HIS    <!' 


I 


Hi 


I'Ui 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


xe-v-vt  tf\Aj_     A.     XC-- 


., 


AUTUMN    HOURS 


AntTLinm 


8    § 


AND 


FIRES!  DP]    READING. 


BY 


MRS.  C.  M.  KIRKLAND. 


NEW  YORK : 

CHARLES  SCRTBNER,  145  NASSAU  STREET. 

1854. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S53,  by 

CHARLES  SCKIBNEB, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern  District 
of  New  York. 


Stereotyped  and  Printed  by 
C.    W.   BENEDICT, 

12  Spruce  Strcc-t,  N.  Y. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


SUNSET,    . 
AUTUMN, 

SUMMER  SOJOURN, 
FAEM  LIFE,  . 
CARLO, 


FEOUTISPIEOE. 

VIQHETTE. 

05 

282 
868 


CONTENTS. 


PAOB 

INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTER,           .    •     .         .        .         .         .  11 

SUMMERING, 23 

SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE, 35 

THE  ISLAND,         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  v  61 

THE  ISLAND  STORY,           .                 ....  95 

PROGNOSTICS, .  102 

HOUSEKEEPING, 122     » 

YENTURINGS 151 

LIFE'S  LESSONS, 166 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD, lit 

WOMEN  OF  THE  REVOLUTION, 204 


x  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

WESTERN  TRAITS, 232 

SAINTS  OF  OUR  DAY, 240 

WHAT  MUST  BE  MUST,         ......  252 

MAKING  LOVE  SCIENTIFICALLY, 265 

AN  INCIDENT  IN  DREAM-LAND, 214 

THE  VISION  AND  CREED  OF  PIERS  PLOUGHMAN",       .        .  279 

A  LEGEND  OF  EAST  ROCK, 289 

THE  HERMIT'S  STORY, 294 


INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTER, 

LEST  some  one,  with  hard,  critical  brow,  and  eyes  in  which 
sympathy  never  found  a  home,  should  ask  us  why  we  make 
another  book,  let  us  think  the  matter  over,  and  satisfy  ourselves 
on  that  point.  Taken  unawares,  we  might  be  at  a  loss ;  for 
even  where  reasons  are  plenty  as  blackberries,  they  sometimes 
grow  on  very  high  branches,  as  our  torn  fingers  and  flounces  at 
this  moment  testify.  Rural  surroundings  make  us  saucy  and 
independent,  and  we  shall  take  advantage  of  the  shelter  of 
these  beetling  rocks,  and  the  murmur  of  this  wild  river,  to  say 
forth  boldy  what  we  think  of  book-making.  There  is,  at  least, 
a  Brown  Thresher  on  the  sumach  over  our  heads  that  thinks  as 
we  do,  for  he  pours  forth  his  heart  in  good  earnest,  trusting 
Providence  for  listeners,  or  finding  a  justification  in  the  im 
pulse. 

Books  are,  in  general,  what  we  make  them.  To  some  they 
are  hardly  more  than  a  certain  weight  of  paper  and  print,  put 
together  in  a  guise  more  or  less  attractive,  and  forming  a  gen 
teel  article  of  furniture.  Others,  though  they  go  deeper,  meet 
them  always  with  a  demurrer,  and  never  open  their  covers 
without  being  inspired  with  some  disparaging  thought,  or  some 


12  INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTEP. 

destructive  criticism.  To  such,  the  representative  of  another's 
thoughts  and  feelings  always  wears  the  aspect  of  an  antagonist. 
'  Do  you  bite  your  thumb  at  me,  sir  ?'  asks  one  of  the  retainers 
of  a  belligerent  house,  the  moment  he  meets  any  body  not 
wearing  his  colors.  '  I  do  bite  my  thumb,  sir/  is  the  reply, 
and  this  is  sufficient  excuse  for  a  fight.  Disputatious  people 
will  seize  still  slighter  occasions,  and  deal  black  eyes  and 
cracked  crowns,  like  wild  Irishmen,  'for  the  pleasure  of  it.' 
Preserve  us  and  our  pages  from  such  attentions  !  We  know 
several  persons  who  have  reared,  and  who  sustain,  formidable 
literary  pretensions,  upon  no  better  foundation  than  a  habit  of 
ridiculing  and  abusing  every  book  they  open.  Simple  hearers 
think  there  must  be  knowledge  where  there  is  so  much  con 
fidence,  and  measure  the  speaker's  judgment  by  his  self-com 
placency  ;  so  the  fault-finders  pass  for  critics.  But,  in  truth, 
'  we  receive  but  what  we  give,'  in  this  as  in  many  other  cases. 
A  mathematical  treatise  requires  a  prepared  reader  ;  so  does  the 
most  unpretending  volume,  aiming  at  no  higher  destiny  than 
the  innocent  amusement  of  a  listless  hour.  On  our  moods 
must  depend  very  much  the  value  of  any  book  to  us,  and  of  the 
lighter  books  most  of  all.  There  are  moments  when  this  bird's 
song  would  be,  to  the  ear  that  now  drinks  it  in  with  delight,  a 
mere  '  iteration,'  to  which  disgust  might  apply  the  harshest  ad 
jective.  Yonder  woody  height,  with  its  studs  of  rock  and  its 
thick  curtains  of  evergreen,  is  to  the  farmer  an  image  of  imper 
tinent  hindrance.  It  keeps  the  sunrise  off  his  chilly  corn-fields 
two  or  three  hours ;  it  harbors  his  stray  cattle  in  unapproach 
able  fastnesses  ;  and  is,  in  every  way,  and  for  every  purpose 
but  the  mere  article  of  firewood,  a  very  eye-sore  to  him.  Yet 
there  sits  a  painter,  sketching  it  with  delight ;  enriching  his 


INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTER.  13 

portfolio  with  studies  of  single  stones  among  its  thousands,  and 
thinking  himself  happy  when  he  can  seize  the  character  of  one 
of  its  mosses.  Nature  neither  placed  it  there  to  please  the 
artist,  nor  will  remove  it  to  gratify  the  farmer.  It  is  for  those 
who  can  use  it,  and  pursues  not  those  who  cannot. 

The  multiplicity  of  books  is  not  surprising.  There  needs 
many  to  suit  all ;  and  it  is  this  that  humble  writers  think  of, 
if  they  think  of  the  matter  at  all,  when  they  venture  to  call 
attention  and  ask  sympathy  for  their  private  thoughts.  Some 
body  may  be  ready  to  listen,  to  be  cheered ;  even,  perhaps,  to 
be  a  little  instructed,  sometimes,  by  another's  fancies,  or  reflec 
tions,  or  experience.  The  pleasure  of  being  listened  to,  is  very 
great.  There  is  even  a  necessity  in  the  human  mind  to  commu 
nicate.  The  silent  cell  is  ever  the  home  of  horror,  distrust  and 
despair.  It  is  the  greatest  of  human  misfortunes  to  be  pre 
cluded  from  speaking ;  even  to  be  hindered  speaking  out 
thoughts  of  a  particular  class,  has  been  thought,  at  no  remote 
period,  cause  enough  of  war  to  the  knife,  and  the  risk  of  all 
else  that  man  holds  dearest.  Speech,  with  reason  or  without 
reason,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  is  one  of  the  necessities  ; 
and  personal  intercourse  being  limited  in  a  thousand  ways, 
there  must  be  other  means  of  transporting  thought.  Books, 
then,  become  spiritual  telegraphs  ;  they  annoy  none  that  let 
them  alone  ;  they  answer  some  of  the  dearest  needs  of  those 
that  use  them.  If  conversation  could  be  universal,  there  would 
be  less  writing ;  yet  there  would  always  be  some,  for  ears 
weary  sooner  than  eyes.  When  friends  live  together,  their 
letter-cases  need  not  be  roomy,  and  posterity  asks  in  vain  for 
their  '  correspondence.'  They  have  had  it,  be  sure  ;  else  they 
had  been  no  friends.  Now,  books  are  the  correspondence  of 


14  INTRODUCTORY    CHAPTER. 

friends  that  have  never  seen  each  other.  They  conquer  the 
limitations  of  human  intercourse,  and  unite  those,  who,  if  per 
sonally  present  with  each  other,  might  never  really  and  effec 
tively  meet. 

For  how  hard  it  is  to  pierce  or  to  surmount  that  semi-trans 
parent  wall  of  personality,  which  can  only  be  sapped  by  long 
and  intimate  intercourse,  and  never  thrown  down  even  by  that ! 
What  is  it  that  keeps  us  apart,  when  each  would  fain  meet  the 
other  ?  Here,  in  these  delicious  shades  where  we  are  writing, 
with  earth,  air,  and  sky  preaching  love  and  harmony,  numbers 
of  human  beings,  every  one  more  or  less  alive  to  the  beauties 
of  scenery  and  the  softening  influence  of  agreeable  circum 
stances,  pass  each  other,  daily  and  hourly,  with  scarce  a  look 
or  word  of  recognition,  though  there  is  nothing  but  good  will, 
or,  at  worst,  indifference,  among  them.  But  if  by  chance  there 
be  one  among  them  who  has  spoken  to  the  world  through  a 
book,  that  one  is  felt  as  an  acquaintance  ;  the  mind-portrait 
having  had  a  wide  circulation,  no  introduction  seems  needed. 
Here,  then,  is  an  excuse  for  books — one  of  many. 

Then  look  at  the  groups  and  solitary  walkers,  scattered 
through  these  grounds  ;  in  the  park,  among  the  rocks  by  the 
stream,  under  the  shadow  of  yon  weeping  elm,  and  on  every 
sofa  and  lounge  in  the  great  house.  A  book  is  in  the  hand  or 
the  pocket  of  each,  unless,  indeed,  as  sometimes  will  happen, 
the  reader  has  been  lulled  by  the  silent  friend  into  the  most 
benign  of  slumbers,  and  has  let  the  volume  fall.  Happy 
authors!  to  conduce  to  so  much  amusement — to  such  sweet 
repose  !  Who  would  not  make  books  ! 

Tourists  are  proverbial  for  book-making,  and  certain  critics 
seem  to  feel  annoyed  by  the  propensity  ;  yet  how  natural  is  it ! 


INTRODUCTORY    CHAPTER.  15 

'  To  travel  and  not  tell,'  is  superhuman.  Now,  to  recite  the 
thing,  with  all  its  particulars,  its  episodes,  its  contrclems,  its 
raptures,  separately,  again  and  again,  to  each  of  your  friends — 
it  would  take  the  forty  mouths  of  a  Hindoo  idol.  Some 
attempt  this,  indeed,  but  their  friends  learn  to  avoid  them. 
If  we  have  been  present  at  a  railroad  catastrophe,  we  may  tell 
it  once,  or  even  twice,  perhaps  ;  but  if  once  we  succumb  to  the 
temptation  to  make  it  our  cheval  de  bataille,  we  shall  easily  for 
get  which  friend  we  have  displayed  it  to,  and  buttons  will  be 
left  in  our  hands  without  scruple,  the  moment  we  begin.  Now, 
telling  the  thing  in  print  is  quite  safe,  and  can  offend  no  one, 
intrude  on  no  business  hours,  be  to  no  one  a  twice-told  tale. 
So  our  mind  is  relieved  at  small  cost. 

Surely  those  travellers  who  have  nothing  to  tell  are  provok 
ing,  if  not  stupid.  There  are  some  who  will  make  the  most 
charming  tour,  be  present  at  the  most  exciting  show,  boast  of 
the  most  delightful  visits,  yet  never  let  a  single  particular 
escape  their  lips,  for  the  benefit  of  anxious  and  questioning- 
stayers  at  home.  They  have  seen  all,  enjoyed  .all,  and  they  are 
content.  An  effort  of  recollection  would  cost  them  something, 
and  they  do  not  care  enough  for  your  pleasure  to  make  it 
These  are  the  very  people  to  inveigh  against  the  tourist's  book- 
making.  Let  us  revenge  ourselves  by  saying,  that  their  imagi 
nation  has  not  strength  of  wing  enough  to  follow  the  adven 
tures  of  another,  or  even  power  to  draw  pictures  from  experi 
ence  that  shall  interpret  those  of  others.  They  are  like  that 
round,  shorn,  selfish-looking  sun  in  a  fog,  that  has  light  and 
warmth  enough,  but  communicates  as  little  as  it  can,  and  atares 
stolidly  upon  us,  without  putting  down  a  single  ladder  of  rays 


16  INTRODUCTORY    CHAPTER. 

to  help  our  imaginations.     Give  us  the  most  garrulous  tourist 


Some  stupid  people  have  called  books  unsocial  ;  they  are  the 
greatest  of  all  promoters  of  sociability.  Besides  the  more  ob 
vious  use  of  interchanging,  discussing,  praising  and  abusing 
them,  they  furnish  a  circulating  medium  of  ideas,  which,  though 
kept  in  mind-purses,  and  not  carried  about  openly,  really  keep 
society  together,  too  ready  at  all  times  to  fall  apart  through 
misunderstanding.  Ordinary,  blundering  talk  expresses  our 
best  thoughts  but  ill,  and  gives  us  an  insufficient,  and  often  a 
mistaken  notion  of  each  other's  powers  ;  'but  when  an  author, 

s»—  -* 

with  a  certain  air  of  professional  knowingness,  says  what  we 
have  been  dimly  thinking,  we  are  as  much  relieved  and  bene- 
fitted  as  when  an  accredited  M.  D.  steps  in  and  gravely  pre 
scribes  the  very  thing  we  are  doing  for  our  friend.  How  many 
conversations  has  '  the  last  number  of  Bleak  House  '  opened  ! 
How  naturally  we  test  and  measure  the  congeniality  or  the 
ability  of  our  acquaintance,  by  ascertaining  their  opinion  of 
particular  characters  !  A  young  lady  of  our  friends  says  she 
never  makes  up  a  judgment  of  any  body  till  she  has  found  out 
whether  he  '  understands  Thackeray.'  Now,  what  a  pleasant 
office  is  this  of  general  mediator.  Let  us  rejoice  that  authors 
are  so  numerous,  instead  of  grumbling  at  the  creaking  of  our 
shelves.  In  this  short  life,  a  short-cut  to  sympathy  is  certainly 
very  desirable,  and  books  are  the  general  revealers. 
/  They  reveal  us  to  ourselves  as  often  as  to  each  other. 
Mirrors  they  often  are  to  our  faults  and  foibles  ;  mirrors,  too, 
to  our  nobler  selves]  less  rarely  than  our  modesty  may  suppose 
disguised  to  us  by  accidental  circumstances,  such  as  want  of 
success,  association  with  ungenerous  or  harsh  people,  or  a  lack 


INTRODUCTORY    CHAPTER.  If 

of  high  animal  spirits,  that  almost  greatest  of  earthly  blessings. 
Anderson's  story  of  the  Ugly  Duck,  who,  accidentally  looking  at 
himself  in  a  pond,  discovers  that  he  is  no  duck,  but  a  swan, 
illustrates  this  inimitably.  Diffident  people  draw  much  comfort 
from  books  ;  the  more  they  shrink  from  free  intercourse  with 
their  kind,  the  more  lifted  up  are  they  by  unexpectedly  confront 
ing  themselves  in  a  good,  i.  e.,  an  ideal  light.  '  As  a  man 
thinketh,  so  is  he  ;'  but  we  do  not  always  recognize  the  value 
of  our  own  thoughts  till  we  meet  them  among  strangers,  and  in 
holiday  clothes.  A  daughter  or  sister  is  sometimes  not  dis 
covered  to  be  a  beauty,  until,  by  some  chance,  she  is  drest  for 
company,  and  seen  with  others  of  greater  pretension  ;  then  how 
our  respect  for  her  increases  1 

What  flashes  come  to  us  from  books,  sometimes  ;  flashes  that 
seem  meant  for  us  alone,  since  others  do  not  always  perceive 
them  ;  yet  they  light  up  all  that  will  burn  within  us.  We  take 
up  a  book  with  very  little  expectation  ;  somebody  has  told  us 
it  is  dull,  perhaps  ;  and  there,  waiting  for  us,  is  just  the  inspi 
ration,  or  the  warning,  or  the  medicine  we  have  been  wanting. 
Strange  power  this,  of  mind  over  mind  ;  that  thoughts  that 
have  lain  in  another's  brain  or  heart,  like  strangers,  so  little 
kindred  had  they  with  those  around  them,  shall  come  into  mine 
with  a  mission  of  health  and  love,  proving  the  best  kind  of 
relationship.  When  we  speak,  then,  of  '  suggestive '  books,  we 
say  something  for  the  writer  and  something  for  ourselves.  A 
tiny  spark  may  cause  the  explosion  of  a  magazine  and  shake 
the  earth,  but  the  powder  must  be  dry  I 

At  different  times  of  life  we  want  different  books,  and  to 
prescribe  long  goody  essays  to  young  people  is  useless,  let  our 
tyros  be  ever  so  docile.  They  cavtt  read  such  things,  or,  if 


18  INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTER. 

they  can,  it  is  a  bad  sign,  and  bespeaks  ill  health  of  body  or 
inind.  Shall  we,  then,  give  them  boundless  range  through  the 
fields  of  fiction  ?  The  other  extreme.  We  should  cut  a  path 
for  them  with  our  own  hands,  and  be  sure  that  it  be  full  of 
beauty  and  variety.  Drilling  enough  there  is,  or  should  be,  at 
school ;  mental  gymnastics  in  plenty  for  the  strengthening  of 
the  intellectual  muscles ;  repose  and  amusement  have  their 
claims,  too,  and  are  too  apt  to  be  forgotten.  Most  people,  in 
their  training  of  the  young,  treat  Nature  as  if  she  were  an 
idiot,  capable  only  of  unintelligible  mutterings,  not  worth  atten 
tion.  But  in  this  way  we  may  make  drones  or  hypocrites  of  all 
but  the  finest  and  highest  spirits.  Books  that  will  excite  curi 
osity  are  among  the  best ;  leading  books,  that  make  the  reader 
'  ask  for  more.' 

Further  on  in  life,  we  like  speculative  and  didactic  books, 
interspersed  among  the  poetical  and  imaginative.  We  have 
begun  to  question  ourselves  and  others,  and  to  be  anxious 
about  this  wondrous  being,  and  its  duty  and  destiny,  its  mean 
ing  and  end.  Yet,  even  now,  we  prefer  books  that  help,  to 
those  that  seem  to  satisfy.  We  are  more  interested  in  a  com 
panion  than  in  a  master.  This  is  the  season  of  theory-building, 
and  we  make  our  fabric  partly,  but  only  partly,  from  other 
people's  materials.  There  is  sometimes  a  passion  for  one  par 
ticular  book  or  class  of  books,  but,  in  general,  we  crave  a 
variety,  out  of  which  to  pick  almost  exclusively  one  kind 
of  interest  or  amusement.  At  another  period,  the  same  book 
will,  curiously,  afford  us  a  new  vein,  such  as  we  happen  to  be 
searching  for  just  then. 

Later  still,  we  love  to  read  discussions  of  points,  which  our 
own  practice  has  long  ago  settled  for  us,  and  warnings  which 


INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTER.  19 

we  mentally  apply,  with  a  good  deal  of  zeal,  to  other  people. 
The  imagination  being  somewhat  dulled,  we  preach,  very  con 
scientiously,  the  superior  value  of  reality,  (as  if  imagination 
were  not  reality ! )  and  lament  over  the  '  waste  of  time '  of 
those  who  are  still  able  to  enjoy  its  delights.  Fiction  we 
inveigh  against ;  not  because  it  has  ever  led  us  astray,  bat 
because  it  may  mislead  others,  or  we  have  heard  of  its  doing 
so.  This  being  led  by  isolated  facts  to  forget  universal  prin 
ciples,  is  the  cause  of  a  great  deal  of  quackery  in  literature 
and  morals.  Things  are  to  be  judged  hurtful,  not  simply 
because  they  have  hurt  some  people,  but  because  they  are 
hurtful  in  their  nature.  Invalids  look  solemn  when  they  see 
others  eating  pine-apples  ;  tolerably  well  people,  even,  will  tell 
you  that  strawberries  are  poison  ;  but  are  they  so  ?  It  is  often 
said  that  nobody  is  perfectly  well,  and  it  is  equally  correct  to 
assert  that  no  one  is  wholly  sane  in  mind ;  care,  therefore,  is 
always  necessary,  in  selecting  food  for  both  body  and  mind. 
But  it  is  not  dangerous  to  set  a  stout  boy  down  to  a  good  din 
ner  in  all  its  variety  ;  neither  do  we  believe  it  so  to  turn  young 
minds  'loose  in  a  good  library.'  In  both  cases,  tastes  and 
instincts  may  be  trusted.  Only  let  the  dinner  and  the  library, 
be  both  really  good. 

We  want  different  reading  for  the  various  times  of  day ; — 
in  the  morning  the  bracing,  in  the  afternoon  the  discursive,  in 
the  evening  the  social,  the  harmonizing,  or,  if  possible,  the 
amusing.  But  there  is  no  reading,  now,  purely  amusing. 
With  everything  that  professes  to  be  so,  we  must  take  a  dose 
of  preventive,  as  poor  little  martyr  children  of  'careful' 
mothers  cannot  have  fruit  until  they  have  first  swallowed  lime- 
water.  The  evening  hours  should  not  be  spent  laboriously,  but 


20  INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTER. 

pleasantly,  if  we  would  'live  long  and  see  good  days/  One 
of  the  good  novels  or  brilliant  essays  of  the  present  day,  read 
aloud  to  the  family  circle,  after  tea,  is  more  potent  than  cham 
pagne  in  dispersing  the  day's  cares  or  vexations.  The  sore  or 
weary  track  left  in  the  mind  by  toil  and  trouble,  is  more  effec 
tually  effaced  by  a  bright,  cheerful  book,  than  by  any  more  noisy 
or  showy  expedient.  Happy  those  who  have  discovered  this  1 

The  times  of  year,  too,  ask  their  various  tones  of  reading. 
The  book  for  January  suits  not  well  with  the  dog-days  ;  the 
tender  green  of  Spring  harmonizes  with  one  set  of  thoughts  and 
studies  ;  the  mellow  coloring  of  Autumn  with  another.  There 
are,  indeed,  books  for  all  seasons ;  a  few  written  with  such  a 
universality  of  sympathy  and  fitness,  that  in  joy  or  sorrow, 
at  morning  or  evening,  in  summer  or  winter,  we  never  open 
them  without  finding,  by  a  sort  of  miracle — for  is  not  genius  a 
perpetual  miracle  ? — something  exactly  suited  to  our  wants. 
Putting  aside  the  Book  of  books,  as  out  of  all  question,  this 
remark  applies  especially  to  Shakspeare  ;  but  there  are  also,  at 
whatever  distance,  other  writers  that  never  come  amiss.  In 
general,  however,  we  have  our  times  of  year  for  different  classes 
of  books,  and  sometimes,  when  we  are  fastidious  and  whimsical, 
feel  that  there  are  none  too  many. 

Considering,  then,  the  wondrous  applicability  of  books  to  the 
needs  and  notions  of  us  all,  and  the  welcome  which  the  right 
ones  are  sure  to  receive,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  some 
of  us  love  to  write  them.  Especially  does  the  writer  who  has 
already  found  favor  count  upon  an  intimate  and  kindly  recep 
tion.  The  old-fashioned  expression,  '  Dear  Reader,'  has  its  pro 
priety.  Readers  seem  like  old  friends  when  we  have  been  able 
to  interest  them.  Affection  depends  more  on  the  heart  and 


INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTER.  21 

mind  than  on  the  eyes,  and  those  who  sympathize  with  us  in 
thought  and  feeling  soon  become  dear.  We  talk  of  '  favorite 
authors ;'  authors  have  favorite  readers,  too  ;  those  who  are 
willing  to  be  pleased  1 

But,  to  '  leave  face-making  and  begin,' — let  us  not  be 
thought  fanciful  in  offering  our  new  book  for  the  amusement 
of  those  cool,  delicious  hours  that  relieve  the  summer  exhaus 
tion,  and  incline  the  mind  to  quiet  reading. 

The  names  of  such  books  are  nothing  more  than  a  sort  of 
poetic  shadowing  forth  of  their  contents.  If  one  writes  a  novel 
or  an  essay,  a  satire  or  a  poem,  its  title  may  be  a  direct  and 
natural  growth  of  the  subject  or  intent ;  and  even  for  a  miscel 
laneous  gathering,  grave  and  gay,  it  used  to  be  distinctive 
enough  to  call  it  such.  Yet  there  has  always  been  confessed 
some  difficulty  about  the  naming  of  books,  and  the  world  has 
been  subject  to  periodical  whims  with  regard  to  it.  We  all 
know  the  quaint  and  absurd  titles  that  have  been  given,  not 
only  to  fanciful  and  poetic  tomes,  but  to  the  most  solemn,  warn 
ing,  and  exhorting  works.  For  ourselves,  being  imperatively 
called  upon  to  find  an  appellation  for  this  third  miscellany  of 
ours,  (publishers  are  very  tyrants  in  these  matters  1)  we 
thought  it  not  worth  while  to  puzzle  over  the  nice  adaptation 
of  a  name,  but  best  to  take  the  first  comprehensive  or  vague 
one  that  came  obedient  to  our  call,  and  trust  to  justifying  it  in 
one  way  if  we  could  not  in  all.  In  this,  as  in  other  respects, 
we  trust  much  to  the  indulgence  of  readers  who  have  already 
shown  themselves  kindly  willing  to  be  pleased. 

ISLAND  HOUSE,  Belloioe  Falls,  Vermont, 
Aug.  1,  1853. 


SUMMERING, 

THE  season  of  returning  to  town  is  apt  to  be  the  time  when 
we  ask  ourselves  why  we  ever  go  away.  Home  looks  so  de 
lightful  after  absence  ;  the  joyous  faces  of  meeting  friends  so 
cheer  our  hearts,  and  lift  our  spirits  above  the  influence  of 
fatigue  and  care,  that  we  sometimes  think  it  has  been  foolish  to 
leave  all  these  pleasant  things,  to  wander  over  the  face  of  the 
earth,  to  lie  in  strange  beds,  to  toss  on  uneasy  seas,  to  endure 
the  company  of  strangers,  to  renounce  one's  favorite  employ 
ments,  and,  above  all,  to  relinquish  the  society  of  those  whose 
society  is  the  chief  pleasure  of  life  to  us.  Yery  wise  people 
reproach  us  with  all  this  ;  they  say,  what  we  cannot  deny,  that 
we  should  have  been  much  more  comfortable  at  home  ;  that  our 
own  houses  are  more  comfortable  than  hotels,  our  own  beds 
than  steamboat  berths,  our  own  dinners  than  any  that  we  shall 
find  elsewhere.  These  sensible  remarks  make  us  quite  ashamed 
of  our  wanderings,  perhaps.  Comfort  is  so  much  the  business 
of  life  with  most  of  us,  that  we  are  quite  sensitive  to  the 
reproach  of  having  mistaken  the  way  to  it.  The  reasons  for 
going  are  less  obvious  than  the  reasons  for  staying,  and  the  joy 
of  returning  makes  us  feel  them  with  peculiar  force. 

But  do  we  remember  that  this  joy  of  reunion  and  return  is 


24  AUTUMN   LEAVES. 

purchased  l.y  the  absence  and  the  journey,  with  all  their  trials 
and  inconveniences,  and  could  not  have  been  felt  without  them  ? 
Iteration  wears  out  even  our  best  pleasures  ;  emotions  are  not 
to  be  summoned  at  will ;  the  home  that  we  have  never  left  is  not 
the  home  that  beams  upon  us  after  a  temporary  renunciation. 
Love  our  friends  as  we  may,  we  love  them  better  after  we  have 
lost  sight  of  them  for  a  while.  Our  employments  tire,  even  in 
proportion  to  the  ardor  with  which  we  pursue  them,  and  their 
zest  is  only  renewable  on  condition  of  some  intervals  of  com 
plete  repose  or  change  of  object.  So  that  for  the  mere  pur 
chase  of  intenser  pleasure,  it  is  worth  while  to  refrain  for  a 
time  ;  but  there  are  stronger  reasons  for  summer  jaunting. 

Supposing  that  our  life  has  only  a  certain  fixed  amount  of 
power,  arid  that  both  happiness  and  duty  command  us  to  make 
the  most  of  this  power  for  the  work  that  is  given  us  to  do, 
seasons  of  complete  change  and  relaxation,  even  of  new  fatigue 
and  voluntary  privation,  in  unaccustomed  directions,  must  be 
advantageous  to  our  bodily  and  mental  condition,  since  aching 
heads,  and  pinched  and  anxious  hearts,  often  admonish  us  that 
too  long  perseverance  in  a  single  track  is  not  congenial  to  so 
varied  a  nature  as  ours.  Even  the  unbroken  enjoyment  of 
home  luxuries  and  ease,  is  conducive  to  anything  but  strength, 
either  of  character  or  muscles.  City  life,  especially,  is  notori 
ously  unfavorable  to  vigorous  and  enduring  health  ;  its  excite 
ments  tend,  more  through  their  ceaselessness  than  their  inten 
sity,  perhaps,  to  insanity  and  premature  decay,  or  sudden 
failure  of  the  energies  of  nature.  We  are  not  of  those  who 
believe  city  life  to  be  necessarily  unwholesome.  It  would  be  so 
to  animals,  doubtless  ;  but  man's  bodily  condition  depends  t  so 
much  upon  ample  and  judicious  exercise  of  his  mental  and 


SUMMERING.  25 

moral  faculties,  that  some  of  the  disadvantages  of  too  close 
contact  with  others,  and  of  employments  more  sedentary  than 
those  which  are  favorable  to  perfect  health,  are  probably  coun 
teracted  by  the  more  wholesome  uses  he  may  make  of  brain 
and  heart,  when  surrounded  by  fellow  beings,  than  when  hi  com 
parative  solitude.  Such  a  country  life  as  we  can  imagine, 
might,  indeed,  unite  all  advantages ;  but  we  are  talking  of  the 
actual,  and  not  of  the  ideal. 

Perhaps  the  best  way  of  making  the  most  of  life,  is  that 
which  is  practised  by  so  many  of  our  citizens — living  in  the  full 
town  and  partaking  of  all  its  intellectual  excitements  and 
means  of  culture,  its  cheering  social  amusements,  its  varied 
human  interests  and  religious  instruction,  for  the  colder  part 
of  the  year,  while  the  fireside  is  so  cosy  and  delightful ;  and  in 
the  summer  learning  a  new  chapter  of  life,  finding  out  a  new 
set  of  powers,  associating  with  a  new  round  and  variety  of 
character,  discovering  the  ideas  of  other  people  on  subjects  on 
which  we  might  suppose  there  could  be  but  one  way  of  think 
ing,  and,  in  short,  making  ourselves  as  much  new  creatures  as 
possible,  with  a  continual  reserve  of  our  old  habits  and  a  con 
stant  tendency  and  desire  to  return  to  them.  To  say  nothing 
of  the  wholesomeness  of  fresh  air  and  hardy  exercise — the  last 
a  theme  hardly  to  be  mentioned  to  ears  polite,  in  a  country 
where  it  is  not  fashionable  to  be  strong — this  way  of  parcelling 
out  life  is  certainly  defensible,  to  say  the  least.  One  thing  is 
certain,  that  those  who  have  most  thoroughly  and  rationally 
practised  it  are  best  prepared  to  defend  it. 

The  question  as  to  how  and  where  the  summer  is  to  be  spent, 
is  quite  another  one.  To  some,  the  plain  farm-house,  with  the 
early  voices  of  birds,  and  the  humbler  noise  of  the  farm-yard, 
2 


26  AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

new  milk  for  the  children,  tumbling  in  hay-mows  and  riding 
without  saddle  for  stout  boys,  and  a  thousand  pretty  country 
sports  for  little  girls  ;  long  walks,  and  rides,  and  fishing  excur 
sions  for  the  elder,  and  shaded  seats  at  noon,  and  pleasant  win 
dows  at  sunset  for  all,  afford  the  needful  change.  To  others, 
the  sea-shore,  with  its  variety  and  its  sameness,  its  refreshing 
surf  and  its  moonlight  beach,  is  more  congenial,  and  braces  the 
limbs  and  spirits  better.  Others  long  for  the  excitement  of 
watering-places  to  balance  the  excitement  of  the  city,  as  he 
whose  hands  have  become  shaky  with  brandy  must  have  his 
coffee  very  strong  to  steady  his  nerves.  Others,  again,  dream 
of  the  novelties  and  wonders  of  foreign  lands,  and  seek  the 
verification  of  their  idea  at  the  expense  of  a  long  sea  voyage, 
and  the  encounter  of  strange  people  and  strange  tongues.  All 
this  while,  the  wise  shake  their  heads,  and  congratulate  them 
selves  upon  being  comfortable  at  home. 

The  money  that  is  expended  in  this  summer  change,  is  a 
prominent  objection  with  most  of  those  who  condemn  it.  They 
speak  as  if  they,  or  any  of  us,  lived  by  the  law  of  necessity, 
and  never  spent  anything  that  could  possibly  be  avoided.  But, 
in  truth,  this  is  so  far  from  being  the  case,  that  these  very  com 
fortable  people  will  perhaps  spend  in  the  course  of  the  year  on 
extra  luxuries  for  the  table,  extra  expenses  in  dress,  or  extra 
indulgence  of  some  sort,  what  would  pay  for  the  summer 
recreation  twice  over.  It  is  simply  a  question  of  spending 
money  in  one  way  or  the  other  for  pleasure  and  advantage. 
Perhaps  the  home  luxuries  are  as  injurious  as  the  jaunt  would 
be  beneficial ;  that  is  our  opinion,  but  it  is  not  the  opinion  of 
every  one. 

Some  years  ago,  it  was  rather  unusual  for  people  of  moderate 


SUMMERING.  2t 

means  to  travel  in  summer.  Most  of  our  citizens  contented 
themselves  with  short  trips,  or,  perhaps,  a  few  weeks'  boarding 
in  the  country.  But  this  was  when  our  cities  were  smaller, 
our  modes  of  life  less  unnatural  and  exhausting,  our  social  am 
bition  less  pungent,  perhaps  our  physiological  ideas  less  rational. 
With  great  opportunities  for  acquiring  wealth,  came  great 
anxiety  to  acquire  it,  and  with  this  anxiety,  and  the  success 
consequent  upon  it,  perhaps,  much  disease,  suffering,  and  pre 
mature  decay.  The  wealthy  were  advised  to  travel,  and  soon 
found  reason  to  be  glad  they  had  done  so  ;  and  their  example 
has  encouraged  others,  who,  though  not  wealthy,  are  suffering, 
to  resort  to  the  same  remedy,  instead  of  retiring  into  a  sick 
room  and  tiring  the  patience  of  the  dyspepsia  doctors. 

But  shall  we  all  wait  until  we  have  a  claim  to  be  ranked 
among  the  suffering  ?  Does  worldly  wisdom  counsel  that  ?  If 
travelling  cures,  will  it  not  also  have  a  tendency  to  prevent 
disease  ?  Many  are  beginning  to  think  so  ;  and  when  they 
find  themselves  wearied  and  overdone,  do  not  sit  down  till  dis 
ease  has  crept  over  them  unawares,  but  ward  it  off  by  refrain 
ing  from  the  toil  that  had  threatened  to  produce  it.  It  used 
to  be  quite  a  proverb  with  the  English  and  French,  that  all 
Americans  who  came  to  see  them. were  ill.  The  remark  is  no 
longer  appropriate  ;  travelling  abroad  is  no  longer  confined  to 
the  rich  and  the  sick.  Health  may  be  still  a  principal  object 
with  many,  but  it  is  future  health  of  mind  as  well  as  body. 
Instruction,  too,  comes  in  as  a  leading  motive  ;  not  instruction 
in  the  fashions,  but  in  whatever  the  study  of  ages  has  been 
able  to  bring  to  perfection. 

It  is  a  humane  impulse,  and  it  has  a  humanizing  effect,  to  go 
out  among  our  kind ;  to  see  other  phases  of  character,  other 


28  AUTUMN  LEAVES. 

modes  of  life,  the  result  of  other  habits.  It  makes  the  heart 
softer  and  more  affectionate,  to  discover  the  good  qualities  hid 
den  under  uncouth  or  even  fashionable  manners  ;  to  become 
accustomed  to  the  peculiarities  of  others,  and  learn  how  '  use 
lessens  marvel/  and  disgust,  also.  To  go  from  home  attacks 
our  imperious  habits,  and  makes  inroads  upon  our  extravagant 
appreciation  of  personal  comforts.  To  teach  humility,  there  is 
nothing  like  it ;  for  what  can  be  more  exquisitely  contrary  to 
our  usual  convictions,  than  the  discovery  how  many  nobodies 
there  are  in  the  world  of  as  much  consequence  as  ourselves  ? 
In  travelling,  every  grand,  personal  claim  is  brought  down 
to  the  vulgar  test  of  money.  Let  us  try  to  make  our  dignity, 
or  our  family,  or  our  reputation,  serve  us,  instead  of  a  full 
purse,  at  any  hotel  ;  our  own  cook-maid  may  take  precedence 
of  us,  if  she  choose  to  spend  her  savings  while  we  attempt  to 
spare  ours.  Few  will  even  criticize  her  manners,  if  her  silks 
be  rich  enough.  Our  threadbare  gentility  will  need  not  only 
vouchers  but  endorsers,  if  the  pockets  be  not  well  lined.  This 
thought  is  good  for  us,  though  not  pleasant.  We  take  it  like 
medicine,  but  it  cures  without  faith.  We  must  pay  in  hard 
cash  for  every  extra  grain  of  importance  we  indulge  in. 
Among  friends  and  inferiors,  assumption  does  a  good  deal  ; 
but  when  we  are  away  from  home  it  is  instantly  tested, 
assayed,  as  it  were  ;  not  like  gold,  but  by  gold.  Now,  from  a 
little  experience  of  this  kind  pride  shrinks  like  a  mimosa.  We 
dare  not  say  it 

Folds  up  Its  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 
And  silently  steals  away  ; — 

but  it  falls  back,  at  least,  and  bides  its  time.  The  world  is  far 
from  being  one  grand,  general,  Mutual  Admiration  Society.  The 


SUMMERING.  29 

eyes  and  manners  of  strangers  tell  us  many  new  and  some  un 
palatable  truths,  such  as  the  tongue  dares  not  utter  ;  but  being 
truths,  that  which  is  true  within  us  runs  to  meet  and  greet 
them,  spite  of  our  anger  and  disdain.  Perhaps  we  thought  our 
turned  silk  looked  as  well  as  ever,  until  we  saw  it  mirrored  in 
Mrs.  Grundy's  eyes  ;  but  ours  are  instantly  opened  under  the 
influence  of  hers.  We  fancied  our  son  a  fine,  genteel-looking 
young  man,  until  Miss  Biggs  and  Miss  Prim  gave  him  the  cold 
shoulder  on  the  approach  of  moustached  and  eye-glassed  Mr. 
Cackle.  Then  we  fell  to  comparisons,  and  for  comparisons 
there  must  be  judgment,  and  for  judgment,  when  we  are  not 
going  to  tell  any  body  the  result,  sincerity  ;  and  so  we  get  to 
the  reality  of  things,  and  all  our  pleasant  little  delusions  fly 
away,  and  leave  what  may  not  look  so  pretty  at  first,  but 
is,  after  all,  much  more  wholesome  and  more  dignified.  To  be 
obliged  to  content  ourselves  with  our  real  claims  is  a  great 
gain,  and  it  is  bought  by  travel. 

We  can  hardly  be  said,  now-a-days,  to  obtain  much  real 
information  by  travel.  Panoramas  and  books  have  changed  all 
that — the  former,  especially.  When  one  of  those  three  mile 
pictures  is  burnt  up,  we  may  reasonably  suspect  the  railroad 
and  steamboat  people  of  the  incendiarism.  One  cannot  but 
know  beforehand  just  how  every  place  under  the  sun  is  going 
to  look.  Whoever  has  seen  Battler's  cosmoramas,  has  looked 
out  of  the  window  at  the  scenes  they  represent,  as  long  as  he 
liked.  When  we  saw  Quebec  for  the  first  time,  it  seemed  as  if 
we  had  been  gazing  at  it  last  week,  so  perfect  was  the  tran 
script  in  a  great  panorama  not  long  since  exhibited.  The  very 
vessels  anchored  in  the  river  were  identical,  and  had  never 
moved.  Niagara  is  as  well  known  to  the  shop-boys  of  New 


30  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

York,  as  to  the  most  conscientious  tourist.  Still  we  go,  and 
feel  that  we  have  learned  something  ;  and  we  are  right ;  but  it 
is  riot  something  that  can  be  written  down  or  pictured,  any 
where  but  in  the  individual  mind.  So  much  of  the  mountain 
or  the  cataract  as  becomes  a  part  of  us  and  of  our  being,  is  an 
inestimable  gain  ;  nought  else  of  all  the  costly  accomplishment 
of  travel. 

This  is  why  travelled  people  are  radically  different  from 
others.  And  the  fact  that  people  who  are  always  travelling 
are  good  for  nothing,  does  not  conflict  with  our  statement,  but 
rather  confirms  it,  for  they  fail  in  the  very  point  we  have  speci 
fied.  They  furnish  their  minds  with  little  else  than  a  daguerre 
otype  or  a  panorama,  destitute  of  the  intelligent  commentary 
that  alone  makes  such  a  show  valuable.  People  who  are  rest 
lessly  racing  the  world  over,  year  after  year,  come  at  length  to 
be  emptied  of  all  but  the  driest  facts,  without  one  grace  of 
imagination  or  combination.  What  they  have  seen  has  given 
them  just  enough  pleasure  or  knowledge  to  make  all  that  is 
present  insipid  ;  and  as  to  affections,  the  insatiable  traveller 
must  systematically  dry  them  up,  in  self-defense.  Old  Weller, 
who  had  "  thirty  mile  of  chambermaids  "  in  love  with  him,  and 
only  laughed  coolly  in  his  sleeve  at  all  of  them,  was, not  to  be 
blamed,  for  how  could  he  return  their  affection  ? 

The  moon  looks 

On  many  brooks, 

The  brook  can  see  no  moon  but  this. 

And  a  game  so  unequal  must  soon  end. 

So  the  love  of  travelling  must  have  its  limits.  It  is  a  passion 
in  some  ;  as  much  so  as  ambition  or  pity,  and,  like  them, 


SUMMERING.  31 

requires  reasonable  bounds.  The  moment  we  find  ourselves 
uneasy  at  home,  we  should  cease  to  travel,  and  sedulously  culti 
vate  home  interests  ;  engage  more  earnestly  in  social  life,  and, 
as  far  as  possible,  make  ourselves  necessary  to  the  people  among 
whom  it  is  our  duty  to  live.  For  what  state  is  so  terrible  as 
isolation  ?  And  isolation  of  mind  is  worse  than  all.  The 
heart  must  starve  and  dwindle  when  it  loses  the  relish  for  its 
natural  food. 

Travel,  rightly  used,  makes  us  happier  and  more  useful  at  home. 
Freshened  eyes  give  a  happy  shine  to  whatever  they  look  upon, 
and  renewed  good  humor  brightens  not  only  our  own  faces  but  the 
faces  of  others  to  us.  Stagnation  is  the  enemy  of  cheerfulness. 
The  black  pool  would  run  dancing  and  laughing  in  the  sun,  if  it 
had  a  proper  outlet.  When  things  do  not  go  right  with  us,  it  is 
half  the  time  owing  to  a  lack  of  animal  spirits  ;  and  much  of  our 
discontent  with  others  has  the  same  source.  Let  any  thing  occur 
to  set  the  blood  leaping  through  the  veins,  even  something  not  par 
ticularly  pleasurable,  and  a  thousand  petty  vexations  and  gloomy 
thoughts  fly  off,  we  know  not  whither,  showing  that  they  had  only 
a  phantom-life  ;  for  the  mind  from  the  smallest  materials  forms 
images  according  to  its  own  nature  or  condition.  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  looking  up  from  a  Life  of  Byron  which  had  absorbed 
him  for  some  time,  saw  Byron  himself  standing  at  no  great  dis 
tance,  every  lineament  perfect  ;  but  when  Scott  had  walked  but 
a  few  steps,  the  figure  of  his  brother  poet  resolved  itself  into  a 
few  shawls  and  plaids,  that  had  been  hanging  in  the  hall,  day 
after  day,  unnoticed.  So  we  have  only  to  quit  the  occupation 
that  has  fatigued  the  mind,  and  just  stir  the  blood  into  a  health 
ful  flow,  to  let  daylight  in  upon  the  gloomiest  megrims,  and  dis 
cover  that  Providence  has  no  particular  spite  against  us,  but 


32  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

offers  us  much  more  of  happiness  and  comfort  than  we  choose  to 
accept.  But  when  this  great  object  is  accomplished,  let  us  sit 
down  again,  and  remember  that  direct  self-cultivation  is  by  no 
means  the  sole  or  the  highest  object  of  life. 

The  effect  of  grand  scenery  upon  the  mind  is  very  decided, 
and  can  hardly  fail  to  tend  towards  good.  There  may  be  as 
many  wonders  in  a  midge's  wing  as  in  Mont  Blanc  or  the 
Mammoth  Cave  ;  but  they  are  not  wonders  that  affect  the  mind 
in  the  same  direction.  Providence  has  so  ordered  it  that  the 
objects  most  important  to  the  great  human  family  and  most  ac 
cordant  with  our  nature,  are  those  which  ask  us  aid  of  science 
for  their  enjoyment  and  appreciation.  There  is  probably  no 
rational  being  who  is  wholly  unaffected  by  the  grandeur  of 
mountains,  the  waving  and  the  shadow  of  primeval  woods,  the 
thunder  of  the  mighty  cataract.  However  dull  and  ignorant 
the  brain,  the  blood  will  thrill  and  the  nerves  shake  at  these 
manifestations  of  Supreme  power.  Witness  the  deification  of 
natural  objects  in  the  early  days  of  the  world — a  form  given  to 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  could  find  no  vent  or  explanation 
but  worship.  And  worship  is  now  the  impulse,  but  with  the 
dignity  and  sanction  of  knowledge,  which  transfers  the  heart's 
instinctive  language  from  the  most  sublime  of  created  objects  to 
Him  who  made  them  all,  and  who,  from  immeasurable  distance, 
inspires  them  with  the  charm  which  no  human  heart  can  wholly 
resist. 

But  who  can  measure  how  greatly  cultivation  enhances  the 
power  of  these  feelings — not  only  direct  but  general  cultivation  ; 
an  acquaintance  and  familiarity,  not  only  with  the  objects  them 
selves,  but  with  what  genius  has  said  and  shown  of  them. 
Every  real  advance,  intellectual  or  moral,  tells  on  our  power  of 


SUMMERING.  33 

admiration  ;  the  loss  or  lessening  of  this  power  is  one  of  the 
surest  signs  of  general  deterioration.  The  nil  admirari,  which 
some  would-be  fashionables  affect,  is  an  emulation  towards  the 
owl  and  the  tortoise.  The  habit  of  admiring  is  one  of  the 
noblest  ;  it  is  next  to  the  habit  of  loving.  Ignorance  and  envy 
are  its  opposites  ;  and  the  mind  and  heart  may  be  so  corrupted 
by  these  as  to  resist  the  feelings  of  admiration,  even  when 
merely  inanimate  objects  are  concerned.  But  the  greatest  souls 
that  have  ever  lived  have  owned  the  influences  of  natural 
scenery  most  fully.  Next  to  human  interest,  the  poet  and  the 
artist  find  their  best  inspiration  in  wild,  sublime  Nature.  Even 
the  most  verbose  descriptions  and  the  poorest  paintings  of  natu 
ral  scenery  show  its  power  over  the  imagination  ;  for  in  no 
other  direction  are  men  so  apt  to  attempt  the  impossible,  and  to 
fancy  they  have  succeeded  because  memory  supplied  to  them 
selves  all  that  their  skill  has  been  unequal  to  impart  to  others. 
Let  not,  then,  the  impulse  to  summer  travel  be  classed  among 
fashionable  follies.  It  may  be  turned  to  poor  account,  indeed, 
as  witness  the  unsavory  crowds,  the  steamy  lights,  the  unwhole 
some  habits  of  too  many  of  the  retreats  alternately  made 
1  fashionable'  or  '  vulgar'  by  the  caprices  of  a  few  of  the  bolder 
leaders  of  ton.  If  there  be  hundreds  willing,  rather  than  be 
omitted  from  the  list  of  notables,  to  swelter  amid  inconveniences 
that  they  would  not  tolerate  at  a  friend's  house,  there  are  thou 
sands  who  roam  during  the  hot  months  among  the  mountains 
and  lakes  of  their  own  country,  or  try  the  fresh  breezes  of 
ocean  and  the  wonders  of  foreign  lands,  from  pure  love  of 
nature  and  improvement ;  who  love  the  freshness  of  t'^e  summer 
morning,  the  forest  shade  at  noon,  the  moonlit  walk,  the  exciting 

ascent  of  woody  mountains,  the  roar  of  cataracts  ;  not  because 
3 


34  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

fashion  has  stamped  them  for  the  present,  but  because,  from  the 
beginning,  the  Author  of  all  good  has  placed  between  these 
objects  and  the  mind  of  man  a  sympathy  and  affinity,  the 
result  of  which  is  proof  enough  that  it  is  His  work  and  enjoys 
His  sanction  and  reward. 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE, 

"  The  power  of  human  mind  had  its  growth  in  the  wilderness ;  much  more  mnst  the 
love  and  the  conception  of  that  Beauty  whose  every  line  and  hue  is,  at  the  best,  a  faded 
image  of  God's  daily  work  and  an  attested  ray  of  some  star  of  creation,  be  given  chiefly 
In  the  places  which  He  has  gladdened  by  planting  there  the  fir-tree  and  the  pine.  Not 
•within  the  walls  of  Florence,  but  among  the  far-away  fields  of  her  lilies,  was  the  child 
trained  who  was  to  raise  the  headstone  of  Beauty  above  the  towers  of  watch  and  war." 

EuSKitf 

THERE  are  some  people  in  the  world,  who,  though  not  averse 
to  some  of  the  aspects  of  fashionable  life,  yet  dislike  watering 
places.  To  seek  change  by  going  where  the  whole  dull  round 
of  the  winter  is  repeated — ruminated,  as  it  were  ;  to  seek  rural 
beauty  where  nature  is  put  in  stocks  and  stays,  and  trodden 
down  and  travestied  in  every  possible  way  ;  to  seek  retirement 
where  the  crowd  is  more  selfish  and  more  encroaching  even  than 
in  town — seems  to  them  as  absurd  as  odious. 

These  originals — these  contemners  of  an  authority  from  which 
there  is  no  appeal,  none  the  less  confess  a  love  of  pleasure. 
They  do  not  claim  to  be  above  the  need  of  relaxation — satisfied 
with  variety  in  duty — living  martyrs  to  the  serious  and  the  sad 
in  life.  They  have  their  own  simple  and  odd  way  of  seeking 
amusement  ;  a  way  so  odd  and  so  obscure  that  we  have  fancied 


36  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

a  little  sketch  of  it  might  possess  for  the  fashionable  world 
something  of  the  zest  of  novelty  ;  it  is  so  natural  for  those  who 
live  in  a  whirl  of  excitement  to  fancy  that  nobody  can  of  choice 
live  out  of  it.  Perhaps  it  will  seem  not  life  exactly,  but  only 
existence. 

True  fashionable  life  is,  however,  but  partially  naturalized  on 
our  fresh  American  soil,  and  in  our  unworn  American  hearts 
In  spite  of  our  efforts  to  appear  as  if  we  were  born  to  it,  many 
an  inward  whisper  of  demur  writes  itself  upon  our  faces  ;  many 
an  awkward  non-compliance  shames  our  consistency,  while  it 
does  honor  to  our  sincerity  and  humanity.  Nature,  nursed  by 
the  mere  shadow  of  our  forests  and  the  breath  of  our  virgin 
soil,  is  too  strong  for  us.  We  have  not  yet  been  successfully 
schooled  into  heartlessness!  Love,  and  Charity,  and  Sympathy, 
still  yearn  within  us,  though  they  are  repudiated  by  Fashion,  who 
insists  upon  undivided  sway.  So  those  who  would  plead  for 
simple  people  and  simple  pleasures  may  yet  hope  a  hearing. 


Whether  fifty  years  or  five  before  the  time  at  which  we  write, 
it  matters  not — for  we  treat  of  things  with  which  exact  chro 
nology  has  nothing  to  do — a  circle  of  friends  and  neighbors, 
living  in  and  near  a  town  used  in  summer  as  a  watering-place, 
resolved  for  once  to  avoid  the  tedious  pleasures  and  lonely  bustle 
which  the  long  days  always  brought  about  their  homes,  by  re 
treating  to  an  undiscovered,  or,  at  least,  uncelebrated  nook, 
where  nature  had  as  yet  leave  to  make  what  faces  she  liked,  and 
where  no  impertinent  blunder  of  art  had  attempted  to  improve 
her  tournure.  It  seemed  a  somewhat  rash  experiment,  this  ; 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  37 

for  the  selection  of  members  of  such  a  party,  not  being  made  by 
secret  ballot,  could  not  be  wholly  candid  and  exclusive.  It  was 
by  no  means  certain  that  six  weeks'  of  summer  abandon  would 
not  prove  too  much  for  the  philosophy  of  some  ;  and  that  near 
and  constant  intercourse,  under  circumstances  of  less  that  home- 
convenience,  might  not  end  in  unhappy  revelations  as  to  the 
temper  of  others.  But  the  experiment  was  worth  trying,  especi 
ally  as  it  was  of  too  quiet  and  humble  a  kind  to  excite  invidious 
remark. 

Then  the  thing  had  no  unpleasant  trammels  about  it.  There 
were  no  inclosing  mountains  about  this  "  happy  valley,"  forbid 
ding  egress  to  those  who  were  tired  of  happiness.  There  was 
even  no  fixed  time  for  rustication  ;  nor  were  friends  from  with 
out  prohibited  from  joining  the  party  for  a  longer  or  shorter 
period,  in  case  the  taste  for  rurality  should  spread.  Whatever 
liberty  can  do  for  constancy  was  provided  for,  and  the  most 
prudent  examination  of  the  materials  of  the  mass  discovered  no 
dangerous  elements.  There  was  not  even  too  much  friendship, — 
as  might  easily  be,  since  friendship  is  at  least  as  sensitive  and 
jealous  as  love.  .No  sentiment  beyond  kind  neighborly  feeling, 
and  the  esteem  which  intelligent  habitual  intercourse  engenders, 
had  prompted  the  choice  of  companionship  ;  the  affinities  were 
all  of  the  most  harmless  kind.  Love  was  almost  out  of  the 
question,  as  will  be  seen  when  we  have  introduced  our  coterie 
of  seceders. 

Speaking  naturally,  we  begin  with  Miss  Ingoldsby,  because 
her  image  rises  first  to  our  thoughts.  She  was  one  of  those 
women  who  are  more  lovely  at  five  and  twenty  than  at  sixteen, 
because  their  beauty  lies  largely  in  the  expression  of  soul. 
There  was  a  wonderful  depth  of  harmony  in  this  young  lady's 


38  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

face,  that  made  one  forget  to  notice  the  rich  coloring  of  her 
complexion,  and  the  corresponding  and  heightening  darkness  of 
eyes  and  hair  which  served  as  shadow  to  those  velvet  roses. 
Tall,  quiet,  and  perhaps  a  little  stately — 

Her  eyes  alone  smiled  constantly ;  her  lips  had  serious  sweetness, 
And  her  front  was  calm— the  dimple  rarely  rippled  on  her  cheek. 

You  could  think  of  her  only  as  unique  ;  you  never  thought  of 
likening  her  to  any  one  else.  Yet  none  had  less  the  air  of  pre 
tension,  or  even  consciousness.  She  was  always  occupied,  and, 
whether  with  mind  or  fingers,  never  with  self.  Elegant  tastes 
she  had,  but  they  were  for  simple  things — things  whose  charm 
or  value  depends  not  at  all  on  exclusive  possession.  She  talked 
well,  but  not  with  intention  ;  or  if  with  intention,  only  so  for 
the  sake  of  others'  pleasure  or  advantage  ;  never  merely  to 
shine,  or  to  make  some  chance  scrap  of  knowledge  tell,  or  to 
frame  in  some  poetical  quotation.  Cultivation  made  Miss  In- 
goldsby  only  more  natural,  for  she  had  learned  above  all  things 
how  hateful  is  affectation  ;  and  indeed  she  had  always  had  small 
temptation  that  way,  being  inevitably  charming,  and  living  sur 
rounded  by  eyes  that  assured  her  she  was  all  they  desired. 
There  is  no  telling  how  much  ruinous  affectation  and  unlovely 
effort  we  might  save  if  we  yielded  admiration  and  love  more 
generously.  It  is  deprecation  or  defiance  of  expected  criticism 
that  causes  half  the  paltry  airs  that  spoil  society.  Her  father 
was  with  her,  and  she  was  his  earthly  all  ;  no  wonder  she 
walked  with  an  unconscious  queenliness,  for  what  gives  such 
grace  and  tender  dignity  to  the  manners  as  the  sense  of  being 
wholly  loved  ?  Would-be  people  felt  her  air  to  be  a  little  re 
served — the  ill-natured  among  them  said  haughty  ;  but  if  so,  it 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  39 

was  only  in  self-defence.  Refinement  cannot  always  wholly  dis 
guise  its  suffering,  and  vulgarity  bitterly  regents  the  slightest 
manifestation  of  distaste  or  weariness.  But  Miss  Ingoldsby 
was  as  generally  liked  as  so  admirable  a  woman  could  be,  and 
the  love  of  her  friends  was  a  kind  of  quiet  enthusiasm,  which 
did  not  flow  out  into  the  praise  which  stimulates  envy.  When 
the  summer-flitting  was  planned,  the  first  thought  was  whether 
Mr.  and  Miss  Ingoldsby  would  be  disposed  to  try  it. 

Mrs.  Marston,  and  her  son, — an  overgrown  boy  of  sixteen,  a 
college  sophomore,  who  fancied  that  study  had  injured  his 
health, — are  to  be  counted  next ;  Mrs.  Marston,  staid,  reason 
able,  well-read,  well-principled  j  the  youth  one  just  calculated 
to  keep  such  a  mother's  heart  in  a  continual  flutter.  These 
were  near  neighbors  of  the  Ingoldsbys  at  home,  and  the  families 
had  aa  habitual  liking  for  each  other ;  traditional,  indeed,  for 
their  forefathers  had  inhabited  the  very  same  spots,  and  left 
many  vestiges  of  their  old  neighborliness  during  the  troublous 
days  of  the  Revolution.  So  they  were  well  past  the  critical 
stage,  and  took  each  other  for  granted  very  kindly — a  state  of 
things  favorable  to  harmonious  companionship,  even  where  there 
is  no  great  mental  or  spiritual  affinity.  After  these  we  come  to 
Mr.  Berry,  a  bachelor,  one  of  the  soberest ;  but  so  full  of 
thought,  and  feeling,  and  poetry,  and  all  romantic  lore,  that  no 
one  cared  to  inquire  his  age,  which  might  have  troubled  him, 
for,  though  something  of  a  philosopher,  he  was  human  and  un 
married.  His  worst  fault  was  a  disposition  to  moralize,  (some 
said  dogmatize)  ;  unless  we  consider  as  such  his  propensity 
to  quote  poetry,  of  which  ample  proof  will  be  found  hereafter. 
This  habit  proved  infectious,  too,  or  else  the  natural  influ 
ence  of  woods  and  fields  waked  up  the  latent  fires  of  others 


40  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

of  the  party,  so  that  they  took  to  citing  verses  hugely,  doubtless 
to  the  secret  scorn  of  those  who  respect  only  the  tangible,  or 
who  have  not  the  blessing  (?)  of  good  memory.  Miss  Berry, 
his  sister,  was  a  good  deal  younger,  but  seemed  to  have,  found 
time  for  nearly  as  much  reading.  She  was  shy  and  timid,  how 
ever,  and  brought  out  what  she  had  to  say  with  a  manner  at 
once  hesitating  and  abrupt.  To  those  who  knew  her  worth, 
like  these  friends  and  neighbors,  she  was  a  delightful  companion, 
and  the  party  would  hardly  have  missed  any  body  more,  always 
excepting  Miss  Ingoldsby. 

Will  any  body  be  kind  enough  to  inform  us  what  is  the  origin 
of  the  expression  —  a  grass-widow  1 

In  vain  have  we  sought  a  plausible  etymology  for  this  strange 
phrase,  which  yet  seems  fully  naturalized  among  us,  and  which 
has  so  usurped  the  function  of  defining  a  certain  position,  that 
we  know  not  how  or  where  to  find  a  substitute.  It  designates 
a  lady  who  is  separated  from  her  husband,  not  exactly  by 
divorce,  but  by  circumstances  which  mutual  affection  is  not 
quite  powerful  enough  to  surmount.  We  have  known  a  gentle 
man  to  go  to  Europe  for  his  health,  intending  to  be  absent  a 
summer  or  so,  and  there  remain  five  years,  frequently  appoint 
ing  a  time  for  his  return.  On  the  other  hand,  ladies  have 
been  so  fascinated  by  Italy,  that  they  have  continued  to  reside 
there,  leaving  husband  to  make  himself  comfortable  at  hotels 
and  boarding-houses  at  home.  For  the  honor  of  human  nature, 
be  it  observed  that  these  things  seldom  occur  where  there  are 
children  in  the  case. 

Mrs.  Whipple  was  called,  in  her  neighborhood  and  at  the 
watering-places  which  she  was  fond  of  frequenting,  a  'gr'ass- 
widow,'  and  we  must  let  the  title  stand  for  the  position  in  which 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  41 

she  lived,  not  knowmgm)w  to  replace  it  by  a  better.  A  de 
serted  wife  she  was  not,  exactly,  since  she  was  as  little  disposed 
to  live  with  her  husband  as  he  could  possibly  be  to  seek  her 
society ;  and  they  were  on  excellent  terms,  corresponding  with 
great  regularity.  Scandal  had  never  breathed  upon  Mrs. 
"Whipple's  good  name  ;  her  behavior  was  unexceptionable  ;  she 
never  flirted  ;  she  was  no  babbler,  nor  did  she  often  make  mis 
chief.  She  dressed  with  all  her  might  and  all  her  means  ;  she 
never  missed  a  party  of  pleasure,  or  neglected  the  opportunity 
for  a  visit  ;  she  chaperoned  young  ladies  and  advised  young 
gentlemen  ;  she  knit  stockings  for  the  poor  and  embroidered 
slippers  and  smoking-caps  for  the  rich  ;  she  was  an  indefatiga 
ble  church-goer,  and  played  a  capital  game  of  whist  ;  was  an 
adept  in  social  etiquette,  and  an  eloquent  declaimer  against  the 
follies  and  heartlessness  of  fashionable  society.  Like  that 
ingenious  little  figure,  which,  roll  it  where  you  will,  has  so  many 
and  such  even  sides  that  it  always  stands  firm,  Mrs.  Whipple 
was  invariably  "all  right"  with  regard  to  those  around  her. 
Serious  with  the  serious,  she  never  interfered  with  the  whims  of 
the  gay.  Not  being  inconveniently  interested  in  any  body  in 
particular,  she  was  able  to  make  herself  agreeable  to  all,  main 
taining  a  friendly  neutrality  which  interfered  with  no  one's  pri 
vate  likings  or  dislikings.  We  need  not  fill  up  this  outline  of 
Mrs.  Whipple's  character,  for  all  our  readers  have  doubtless 
•seen  a  Mrs.  Whipple. 

Some  people  said  she  had  one  fault — that  she  was  an  unblush 
ing  flatterer  ;  but  this  was  when  she  flattered  somebody  else. 
The  subjects  of  her  praise  seldom  complained.  We  have  this 
lady  to  add  to  our  coterie,  not,  perhaps,  because  she  fell  into  it 
naturally,  but  because  she  was  the  guest  of  one  of  the  members. 


42  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

Why  she  accepted  an  invitation  uncongenial  with  her  habits,  we 
can  only  guess.  Boundless  curiosity  was  one  of  her  character 
istics,  and  perhaps  the  novelty  of  the  plan  tempted  her.  Or 
she  might  have  desired  to  see  how  what  she  called  "  sensible" 
people — a  term  which  from  her  lips  had  always  the  suspicion  of 
a  sneer — would  endure  a.  summer  of  rural  seclusion.  There  is 
nothing  of  which  the  world  is  more  incredulous  than  professions 
of  distaste  for  what  it  loves  best,  especially  when  this  distaste 
refers  to  no  special  enthusiasm. 

We  are  saved  the  necessity  of  sketching  Mr.  Aldis,  the 
nephew  of  Miss  Berry  and  her  brother,  by  a  "  Character"  of 
Tennyson's.  If  Charles  Aldis  had  sat  to  the  poet,  the  likeness 
could  have  been  no  more  life-like. 

He  spake  of  beauty :  that  the  dull 

Saw  no  divinity  in  grass, 

Life  in  dead  stones  or  spirit  in  air : 

Then  looking  as  it  were  In  a  glass, 

He  smoothed  his  chin  and  sleeked  his  hair 

And  said  the  earth  was  beautiful. 

And  so  on. 

This  gentleman — a  specimen  of  a  certain  sickly  and  inert  cul 
tivation  not  uncommon  among  us — was  accompanied  by  his  sis 
ter,  much  like  him  in  fact,  but  seeming  something  stronger, 
.because  we  do  not  pay  her  sex  the  compliment  of  expecting  so 
much  from  it.  A  man's  faults  sometimes  pass  for  almost  graces 
in  a  woman,  even  though  we  are  far  from  acknowledging  the 
heresy  of  masculine  and  feminine  virtues  ;  the  characters  of 
man  and  woman  may  be  sketched  in  lighter  or  deeper  tints  of 
the  same  color,  but  the  same  primaries  must  serve.  Anne 
Aldis  had,  if  any  thing,  the  advantage  as  to  depth,  so  that  .she 
seemed  immeasurably  superior  to  her  brother. 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  43 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Shelton,  a  newly  married  couple,  with  Miss 
Grove,  Mrs.  Shelton's  sister,  complete  the  circle.  It  is  hard  to 
characterize  newly  married  people  ;  they  are  generally  either 
very  insipid  or  very  artificial  ;  that  is,  they  are  either  much  oc 
cupied  with  each  other,  or  affecting  not  to  be  so  ;  and  in  either 
case  not  very  good  company.  But  here  were  ample  walks  and 
unsearchable  rambles,  and  all  about  the  little  picturesque  vil 
lage  which  our  refugees  had  chosen,  such  quiet  coverts  and 
enticing  labyrinths  as  make  one  believe  in  fairy  land. 

There  were  a  thousand  good  reasons  why  Mr.  Shelton  and 
his  fair  Egeria — baptismally  devoted  to  forest  shades — should 
thread  these  mossy  paths  every  day,  and  lose  themselves  and 
become  irretrievably  bewildered,  so  that  they  could  not  find  the 
way  home  until  dinner-time,  or  tea-time,  as  the  case  might  be. 
Meanwhile  Miss  Grove  was  left  upon  the  hands  of  the  public 
for  entertainment  ;  but,  as  she  worked  in  crewels  or  crochet 
without  ceasing,  she  was  happily  raised  above  the  accidents  of 
social  life,  and  gave  very  little  trouble  to  any  one. 

Grave  Milton  says — 

Coare«  complexions 

And  cheeks  of  sorry  grain  will  serve  to  ply 
The  sampler,  and  to  tease  the  housewife's  wool ; 
What  need  a  vermeil-tinctured  lip  for  that, 
Love-darting  eyes,  or  tresses  like  the  morn  ? 

But  nature,  though  preparing  Miss  Grove  for  a  teaser  of  worst 
eds,  had  been  more  bounteous  than  this.  She  was  a  pretty 
blonde  girl,  picturesque  and  ornamental  at  least,  when  you  did 
not  examine  too  closely.  We  say  no  more  at  present,  except 
that  the  young  lady  wore  very  long  ringlets,  which  she  occasion 
ally  sewed  or  knit  into  her  work,  and  then  snatched  out  again, 


44  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

leaving  not  a  few  stray  golden  hairs  to  increase  the  value  of 
the  fabric. 


The  village  lay  not  exactly  on  the  edge  of  the  wide  ocean, 
but  within  sight  of  it,  on  the  shore  of  a  small  cove,  rocky  and 
wild  as  heart  could  wish — we  dare  not  name  it,  lest  it  be 
thronged  and  spoiled  next  year.  No  steamboat  had  yet  found 
it  out,  nor  did  telegraph  wires  vibrate  within  a  dozen  miles  of 
it.  The  inhabitants,  who  were  divided  between  fishing  and 
farming,  sent  a  boy  on  horseback  for  the  mail  every  Saturday, 
and  he  often  brought  back  nothing  but  a  few  newspapers. 
The  present  accession  altered  this  matter  somewhat,  of  course  ; 
but  even  now  the  very  atmosphere  was  loaded  with  stillness. 

A  piteous  lot  it  -were  to  flee  from  man 
Yet  not  rejoice  in  nature — 

And  rejoicing  in  nature  was  the  daily  business  of  our  party,  a 
taste  in  which  they  all  agreed,  whatever  diversities  might  have 
been  found  among  them  otherwise.  They  walked,  they  boated, 
they  rode  ;  they  made  the  woods  ring  with  careless  talk,  and 
sounds  meant  on  purpose  for  the  echoes.  The  ladies  tried  to 
learn  the  art  of  milking,  but  found  the  cows  quite  too  much  for 
them  ;  and  Miss  Ingoldsby  amused  herself  with  feeding  the 
poultry,  until  she  could  not  stir  abroad  without  a  train  of 
screaming,  hopping,  fluttering  creatures,  following  her  and  peck 
ing  at  her  slippers.  -  Mr.  Berry  put  on  a  gravely  knowing  air 
when  he  talked  with  the  farmers,  but  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he 
was  stealing  knowledge  which  he  was  quite  unable  to  repay  in 
kind.  He  was  preparing  for  agricultural  speeches  in  next  win- 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  45 

ter's  legislature.  As  for  Mr.  Ingoldsby,  being  rather  portly 
in  contour,  he  was  not  particularly  fond  of  climbing  rocks,  or 
jumping  across  rivulets  with  the  aid  of  a  long  slender  pole — 
favorite  gymnastics  with  some  of  the  party.  So  he  generally 
set  out  with  a  book  in  his  pocket,  or  some  newspapers  if  there 
were  any  unexhausted,  and,  when  he  began  to  feel  rather  red 
and  short-breathed,  would  sit  down  in  the  shade,  and,  taking 
out  his  glasses,  soon  -lose  himself — in  contemplation  we  are  bound 
to  say,  for  he  stoutly  denied  that  his  cogitations  ever  partook 
of  the  nature  of  slumber.  His  reading  always  turned  to  the 
general  benefit,  however,  for  he  remembered  every  thing  worth 
remembering,  and  was  not  too  lazy  or  too  selfish  to  tell  it  for 
the  pleasure  of  others,  as  so  many  readers  are.  The  Sheltons, 
we  have  said,  were  disposed  to  be  erratic,  but  we  must  not 
leave  the  impression  that  they  were  silly  or  ill-bred.  They  con 
tributed  their  part  to  the  current  social  feeling,  and  generously 
allowed  their  absorption  to  be  laughed  at,  without  putting  on 
the  old  rusty  defensive  armor  of  dignified  looks  about  it.  Mrs. 
Marston  was  always  agreeable.  She  had  great  calmness  of 
spirit,  and  a  power  of  saying  just  the  thing  that  was  needed  at 
the  moment ;  was  willing  to  suggest  plans  and  have  them  mod 
ified  or  rejected  ;  stay  behind  when  conveyance  was  scanty  ; 
give  her  opinion  on  any  point  in  debate,  whether  she  was  inte 
rested  or  not  ;  and,  in  short,  made  herself  of  as  small  account 
as  her  friends  would  let  her,  as  a  sensible  middle-aged  lady 
should,  making  up  her  mind  that  it  was  very  natural  for  society 
to  be  more  occupied  with  younger  claimants  upon  attention. 
Mr.  and  Miss  Aldis,  Henry  Marston,  and  Miss  Grove,  felt 
themselves  of  a  good  deal  of  importance,  and  made  very  good 
company  for  each  other. 


46  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

Miss  Berry  alone,  of  all  the  circle,  had  a  passion.  We  are 
eorry  to  disappoint  the  reader,  but  it  was  not  the  passion  of 
passions,  but  only  an  insane  desire  to  gather  sea-weed,  or  Algce 
as  the  lady  more  euphoniously  termed  the  wondrous  films  of 
rose  and  purple,  and  gold  and  brown,  that  she  waded  after,  and 
gathered,  and  spread  carefully  and  cunningly  on  cards.  With 
her  great  disk  of  a  straw  hat,  and  her  quaint  bathing  costume,  she 
did  make  a  most  remarkable  figure,  slipping  off  mossy  rocks  into 
crevices  that  looked  black  and  shadowy  and  as  if  they  were  full 
of  eels  ;  or  standing  with  all  gravity,  knee-high  in  water,  gazing 
fixedly  as  if  she  saw  fairy  castles,  or  were  studying  the  pictured 
clouds  on  the  bay's  fair  bosom.  But  the  water  was  not  always 
calm  enough  for  these  mystic  rites,  and  Miss  Berry,  in  her  nat 
ural  form  and  unpossessed,  was  one  of  the  most  genial,  chatty, 
agreeable  persons  in  the  world.  She  had  travelled,  and  with 
profit,  and  was  full  of  scraps  of  pleasant  knowledge,  which,  as 
she  had  gathered  them  for  the  pleasure  of  gathering,  she  dis 
pensed  for  the  pleasure  of  dispensing,  or  because  they  were  the 
natural  outflowing  of  the  current  of  pure  and  lively  thought 
within.  Her  cheerfulness  was  cloudless,  and  her  ready  smile 
lightened  and  danced  all  over  her  face,  till  one  forgot  that  its 
dominant  expression  was  serious.  Society  would  be  sadly  off 
without  a  few  single  women  like  Miss  Berry,  unabsorbed  by 
private  cares,  and  at  leisure  for  special  offices  of  kindness. 

She  had  not  been  a  week  at  M before  she  was  acquainted 

with  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  the  settlement,  and  knew 
something  about  their  wants  and  difficulties  ;  but  so  quietly  and 
privately  that  no  one  suspected  her  of  spending  all  the  time 
during  which  she  was  not  visible,  in  devising  liberal  things  for 
all  cases  within  her  power. 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  47 

To  some  apprehensions  a  circle  composed  of  such  materials  as 
we  have  here  faintly  sketched  would  be  dull  enough.  No  flirta 
tion  !  no  balls  !  no  opportunity  for  display  of  dress  or  equi- 
page  !  In  one  word — one  magic  word — no  excitement ! 

Yet  we  aver  that  our  party  enjoyed  every  day  and  hour. 

One  proof  we  can  offer,  which  perhaps  will  seem  yet  harder 
to  believe — that  they  wrote  a  great  many  long  letters.  It  is 
true  that  this  bespeaks  a  very  quiet  kind  of  happiness.  We 
are  not  disposed  to  withdraw  from  what  is  sometimes  called 
pleasure,  to  write  ourselves  down  for  absent  friends.  A  certain 
degree  of  calm  is  required  for  the  introversion  which  makes 
letter-writing  agreeable,  and  we  are  not  apt  to  find  time  for 
this  amid  a  round  of  exciting  amusements.  The  mind  must  be 
free  from  any  irksome  compression  of  circumstances  ;  the  imag 
ination  must  be  gently  stimulated  ;  the  memory  relieved  from 
present  burthens  ;  time  not  marked  out  too  severely  by  recur 
ring  duties  ;  the  sympathies  not  too  much  drained  by  the  daily 
demand  which  none  can  shun  who  face  the  jostling  of  common 
life. 

All  these  conditions  being  fulfilled,  how  sweet  is  the  memory 
of  the  absent ;  how  tenderly  the  claims  of  old  aflfection  urge 
themselves  I  Our  very  dreams  renew  the  cherished  images  that 
seem  faded  only  because  so  delicately  drawn.  It  is  not  at  these 
times  that  we  criticise  those  we  love.  We  paint  them,  indeed ; 
we  catch  full-length  views,  which  we  never  find  time  for  when 
we  are  with  them  ;  but  with  what  choice  and  tender  touches  ! 
Here  we  are  artistic,  if  ever.  No  charm  is  forgotten — no  defi 
ciency  remembered.  The  leading  idea  possesses  us  wholly,  and 
whatever  could  contradict  it  falls  into  gentle  shadow  under  the 
magic  light  of  affection. 


48  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

Yes — we  insist  that  feeling  disposed  to  write  letters  is  a  sign 
of  happiness,  for  when  we  love  we  are  happy.  Would  that  this 
our  deep  philosophy  might  shame  some  one  out  of  saying  "  I 
hate  to  write  letters  1" 

Tennyson  has  a  sly  touch  at  the  picturesque  of  a  lady's  hand 
writing,  when  he  makes  the  Prince,  trying  to  write  lady-like, 
scribble 

In  such  a  hand  as  -when  a  field  of  corn 
Bows  all  its  ears  before  the  roaring  East 

But  the  satire  which  pretends  that  women  would  rather  write 
gracefully  than  legibly  is  hardly  consistent  with  the  other,  which 
ascribes  to  them  a  love  of  talking  ;  for  surely  nobody  loves  to 
talk  without  being  understood,  and  what  else  is  writing  ille 
gibly  ? 


The  amount  of  reading  accomplished  at  M was  not 

very  considerable.  There  are  seasons  when  the  mind  is  instinc 
tively  creative,  whether  we  give  it  voice  or  not.  At  such  times 
reading  has  not  its  usual  charm,  though  we  may  hardly  suspect 
why.  We  call  the  phase  dreamy,  and  so  perhaps  it  is  ;  but  if 
we  had  resolution  to  embody  those  dreams,  they  might  be  found 
to  deserve  a  more  respectable  name.  Miss  Ingoldsby  was 
oftener  seen  writing  than  reading,  but  she  could  not  be  per 
suaded  to  give  a  rational  and  credible  account  of  the  multitude 
of  closely  written  scraps  of  paper  which  slipped  into  her  port 
folio. 

The  weather  was  so  delicious  that  the  bay  seemed,  in  its 

quietude,  like 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  49 

A  blue  summer  ocean,  far  off  and  alone ; 

and  the  motion  of  the  oars  dipping  into  its  glossy  bosom  was 
often  all  that  broke  its  stillness.  On  one  side  was  a  bold,  rocky 
headland  ;  on  the  other  a  grassy  point  stretching  down  nearly 
to  the  pebbly  beach  ;  and  when  these  were  rounded,  the  shores 
on  either  hand  presented  great  variety  of  outline,  and  ample 
facilities  for  bathing.  Fishing  was  unpopular  with  the  ladies, 
and  although  the  gentlemen  made  some  desperate  attempts  to 
become  interested  in  it,  they  always  seemed  glad  when  their 
pleasure  of  that  kind  was  well  over  ;  which  was  not  so  much  to 
be  wondered  at,  as  the  ungentlemanly  fishermen  about  them 
were  a  good  deal  more  successful.  Mr.  Berry  confessed  that  he 
never  caught  anything  but  cold,  and  so  forswore  angling  alto 
gether.  Mrs.  Shelton  declared  her  husband's  fishing-coat,  with 
its  dozens  of  yawning  pockets,  horribly  unbecoming  to  him,  so 
of  course  he  gave  it  up.  Mr.  Aldis  managed  to  pop  into  the 
water,  and  had  to  be  pulled  out  of  it  very  unceremoniously  by 
two  men  in  red  flannel,  which  quite  disgusted  him.  Henry 
Marston  alone  persisted  in  sitting  in  the  sun  whole  days,  and 
corning  home  with  his  nose  blistered,  and  his  fingers  looking  like 
bunches  of  radishes,  much  to  his  mother's  disquiet ;  while  Mr. 
Ingoldsby  joked  him  unmercifully  about  "  silver  hooks,"  and 
promised  to  eat  all  the  fish  of  his  bonafide  catching  ;  until  one 
evening  Henry  brought  in  an  enormous  bass,  with  ample  vouch 
ers  for  its  being  his  lawful  captive  ;  after  which  Mr.  Ingoldsby 
grew  more  respectful,  and  Henry  more  enthusiastic,  as  was  to 
be  expected. 

After  all,  however,  Mr  Berry  cruelly  started  a  doubt  whether 
Henry  might  not  have  bought  the  vouchers  as  well  as  the  fish  ! 
4 


50  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  the  people  are  saying  of  us  at  Lav- 
ington,  now  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Whipple,  as  the  party  were  gath 
ered  in  a  great  old-fashioned  porch  at  nightfall,  watching  the 
sparkles  on  the  water  and  the  sparkles  on  the  land, — a  wide 
meadow  near  at  hand  furnishing  myriads  of  fire-flies  ; — and  lis 
tening  to  the  katy-dids,  and  inhaling  the  odors  of  a  labyrinth 
of  honey-suckles  and  roses,  that  had  grown,  untrained,  all  about 
the  windows  and  doors  of  the  antiquated  house. 

"  Pitying  us,  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Shelton. 

"  Abusing  us,  rather,"  said  Mr.  Berry. 

"  Oh  no — not  abusing — only  thinking  us  very  silly,"  said 
Miss  Ingoldsby. 

"  Or  very  romantic,"  Mr.  Aldis  thought. 

Mrs.  Marston  imagined  the  prevailing  idea  to  be  that  they 
were  very  exclusive. 

"So  is  every  one  who  does  not  give  a  large  party  every  time 
he  wants  to  ask  a  friend  or  two  to  dinner,"  said  Mr.  Ingoldsby. 
"  Exclusiveness  is  justly  offensive  where  it  is  an  object — where 
we  exclude  for  the  sake  of  excluding.  The  exclusiveness  of 
fashionable  life  excites  odium  only  because  it  is  well  understood 
to  be  deliberately  practised,  as  a  means  of  distinction.  We 
shall  not  be  suspected  of  any  thing  of  that  kind,  I  hope  and 
believe." 

"  Perhaps  the  worst  thing  that  will  be  said  of  us,"  said  Miss 
Berry,  "  may  be  that  we  fancy  ourselves  very  sensible,  and  set 
up  to  be  wiser  than  our  neighbors." 

"  An  imputation  that  we  ought  to  bear  patiently,"  observed 
her  brother,  "  seeing  that  it  comes  very  near  the  truth." 

"Is  it  so  ?"  asked  Miss  Ingoldsby  ;  "I  imagined  we  were 
only  rational." 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  51 

"  Yes,  but  to  be  rational,  in  so  original  a  way,  may  be  felt  as 
an  imputation  upon  the  rationality  of  those  who  choose  a  very 
different  mode  of  passing  the  summer." 

"  You  may  depend  upon  it,"  said  Mrs.  Marston,  "  we  shall 
be  accused  of  having  made  a  desperate  effort  at  originality." 

"  We  ought  to  be  canonized  for  that,  at  least,"  said  Mr. 
Berry.  "  An  American  who  ventures  upon  any  thing  original, 
in  the  social  way,  is  a  hero,  and  stands  a  chance  of  being  a 
martyr.  We  are  more  completely  the  slaves  of  prescription 
than  any  other  people.  Imitation  is  our  national  vice." 

"  We  must  not  pride  ourselves  too  much  on  originality  in  this 
instance,"  said  Miss  Berry,  "  for  I  confess,  as  far  as  I  had  any 
part  in  suggesting  the  idea,  it  was  caught  from  a  poem  of  Mrs. 
Browning's — a  poem  called  The  Island,  which  I  dare  say  you  all 
know." 

"  Oh  no,  we  don't,  I'm  sure,"  said  half  a  dozen  voices. 
"  You  will  repeat  it  for  us,  Miss  Berry." 

Miss  Berry  said  she  knew  only  a  few  verses  of  it — those 
which  put  the  thought  of  such  a  quiet  summer  sojourn  in  her 
head. 

A  boon,  O  world,  a  boon  of  thee  1 

Now  turn  away  thy  face, 
And  loosen  from  thy  clasp  my  hand, 

And  let  me  dream  a  space  1 


My  dream  is  of  an  island  place 

The  distant  seas  are  folding; 
And  over  which,  the  only  watch 

Those  trooped  stars  are  holding: 
These  bright,  still  stars  I  they  need  not  seom 
Brighter  or  stiller  in  my  dream  I 


52 


AUTUMN    HOURS. 

Hills  questioning  the  heavens  for  light— 

Ravines  too  deep  to  scan, 
As  if  the  wild  earth  mimicked  there 

The  wilder  heart  of  man : 
Only  it  shall  be  greener  tat 
And  gladder,  than  hearts  ever  are: 

Around,  above,  the  plumed  trees 
Their  graeions  shadows  throw ; 

Through  whose  clear  fruit  and  blossoming 
Where'er  the  sun  may  go, 

Thegroand  beneath  he  dee-ply  stains, 

As  shining  through  cathedral  panes. 

But  little  needs  the  ground  beneath 
The  shining  from  above  her, 

"Where  many  Pleiades  ef  flowers, 
(Not  one  lost  !)star  her  over ; 

The  rays  of  their  unnumbered  hue* 

Being  refracted  by  the  dews. 

Nor  think  each  arched  tree  with  each 

Too  closely  interlaces 
T"  admit  of  vistas  opening  bread 

And  sweet,  sun-basking  place*, 
Upon  whose  sward  the  antlered  deer 
View  their  own  image,  long  and  clear. 

Unless  they  fainer  would  beheld 

That  image  en  the  seas, 
"Whene'er's  a  way  through  shelving  rocks 

And  over-branehing  trees, 
Whose  doves  from  half-closed  lids  espy 
The  green  and  purple  fieh  go  by. 

My  soul  in  love  bounds  forwarder 
To  meet  the  bounding  waves  t 

Beside  them  is  the  home  for  me, 
"Within  the  coral  c»ves: 

And  near  me  two  or  three  may  dwell 

Whom  dreams  f»nta»tie  please  as  welt 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  53 

I  said  that  two  or  three  might  choose 

Their  caves  beside  mine  own; 
Those  who  would  change  i\e  din  of  man 

For  nature's  nobler  tone — 
Man's  veering  lieart  and  careless  eyes, 
For  nature's  steadfast  sympathies. 

This  last  stanza,  containing  the  germ  of  this  social  seclusion 
which  was  not  exclusion,  Miss  Berry  repeated  with  especial 
emphasis.  She  had  a  vast  fund  of  romance  in  the  bottom  of 
her  good  heart,  and  lived  as  much  on  poetry  as  any  one  can 
who  leads  a  life  of  active  usefulness,  or  rather  more,  perhaps, 
than  any  one  can  who  does  not  lead  a  useful  life.  Those  have 
the  best  right  to  the  poetry  of  life  who  fulfil  all  its  uses.  The 
"  calm,  high,  spheric  tune"  is  heard  only  by  the  ear  of  labor. 
Miss  Berry's  dark,  piercing  eyes  always  saw  more  than  other 
people's,  because  there  was  nothing  human  that  did  not  interest 
her,  so  that  she  had  no  seasons  of  vacuity — none  of  those  faint- 
ings  of  egotism  which  we  call  low  spirits.  A  benevolence  that 
knew  no  pause  forbade  stagnation,  and  the  health  of  mind 
which  attended  it  brought  health  of  body  too.  She  was  a 
spirit  of  pure  life  wherever  she  appeared  ;  her  very  beauty  was 
inspiring. 

Beauty  !  had  she  then  beauty  ?  Could  the  possessor  of  such 
a  soul  be  without  it  ? 

The  essence  of  all  Beauty  I  call  Love. 
The  attribute,  the  evidence,  and  end, 
The  consummation,  to  the  inward  sense, 
Of  Beauty  apprehended  from  without, 
1  still  call  Love.    As  form,  when  colorless, 
Is  nothing  to  the  eye— that  pine  tree  there, 
Without  its  black  and  green,  being  all  a  blank — 
So,  without  Love,  is  Beauty  undiscerned 
In  man  or  angeL 


54  AUTUMN  HOU-RS. 

This  beauty  Miss  Berry  possessed  in  perfection,  and  it  dif 
fused  itself  like  a  rosy  sunset  hue  wherever  she  lived  and  moved. 

"  They  will  expect  you  to  write  a  book,  Miss  Berry,"  said 
Mrs.  Whipple,  continuing  the  suggestion  of  what  was  the 
thought  at  Lavington. 

This  alluded  to  a  malicious  report  of  some  enemy  of  Miss 
Berry's,  that  she  had  written  books — not  generally  believed, 
however  ;  she  was  too  pleasant  and  natural  to  fill  out  the  pop 
ular  notion  of  an  authoress. 

She  blushed,  and  asked  what  material  could  be  found  under 
such  circumstances. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know — I  dare  say  you  can  find  some.  What 
do  you  think  of  describing  ourselves  and  our  doings  ?" 

"  I  protest  against  that,"  said  Miss  Ingoldsby.  "  I  am  so 
idle  and  good-for-nothing,  that  I  decline  being  put  into  print. 
I  propose  rather  that  Miss  Berry  should  devise  a  book  on 
morals  and  manners,  culled  from  the  substance  of  our  sage  con 
versations.  We  are  very  wise,  here  ;  and  entertain  virtuous 
and  highly  commendable  sentiments  at  small  cost,  since  our 
temptations  are  few.  Suppose  we  give  the  world  the  advantage 
of  these  by  the  aid  of  our  friend's  pen." 

Miss  Berry  would  not  own  that  she  possessed  any  power  of 
the  kind  described. 

"  It  appears  to  me,"  she  said,  "  that  our  book  should  be  a 
joint-stock  affair,  each  member  contributing  something." 

Of  course,  each  person  vehemently  protested  that  he  or  she 
was  entirely  unable  to  contribute  any  thing  to  such  an  under 
taking,  and  the  subject  was  dropped. 

The  world  has  lost  much  by  this  impression  that  to  write 
down  one's  thoughts  for  the  sympathy,  encouragement,  or 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  55 

instruction  of  others  is  a  peculiar  craft.  But,  in  truth,  the 
lines  of  Wordsworth  on  a  kindred  theme  might  be  applied  to 
those  to  whom  the  name  of  author  is  a  bugbear : 

Or  haply  by  a  temper  too  severe, 

Or  a  nice  backwardness,  afraid  of  shame  ; 

Nor  having  e'er,  as  life  advanced,  been  led 

By  circumstance  to  take  unto  Vie  height 

The  measure  of  themselves,  these  favored  beings, 

All  but  a  scattered,  few— live  out  their  time 

Husbanding  that  which  they  possess  within, 

And  go  to  the  grave  unthougM  of.    Strongest  minds 

Are  often  those  of  whom  the  noisy  world 

Hears  least. 

The  spontaneous  effusion  of  thought  would  roll  back  at  least  a 
part  of  the  great  tide  of  mere  imitative  or  mechanical  writing, 
that  threatens  to  overwhelm  the  public  mind  and  patience.  If 
each  one  endowed  by  nature  as  the  poet  supposes,  gave  forth 
that  which  he  had  an  impulse  to  utter,  and  nothing  else,  we 
should  have  more  authors  and  fewer  volumes  ;  the  choicest 
essence  of  every  man's  experience,  and  the  most  delicate  aroma 
of  every  fancy's  flowering.  Treasures  are  even  now  lying  lost 
in  private  letters,  which  would  suffice  for  the  germ  of  many  a 
work  with  which  the  press  and  the  people  groan.  Pearls  lie 
ungathered  in  many  a  conversation,  that  would  put  to  shame 
the  elaborate  artificial  gems  that  glitter  in  ostentatious  efforts 
at  style  and  effect.  As  many  people  are  wiser  than  they 
know,  as  there  are  those  not  so  wise  as  they  think  ;  as  many 
need  a  fillip  to  their  vanity,  as  there  are  that  would  be  the  bet 
ter  for  an  extinguisher  on  their  conceit.  The  standard  of 
writing  would  be  instantly  raised,  if  the  stores  of  wit  and  wis 
dom,  lovj  and  power,  that  warm  life  creates  in  the  depths  of 


56  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

many  a  dull-seeming  mind,  were  conscientiously  devoted  to  the 
general  good — considered  common  property,  of  which  the  indi 
vidual  possessor  is  only  one  of  the  stewards.  What  are  rubies, 
so  long  as  they  are  not  brought  out  into  the  sun  that  formed 
them  ?  They  belong  to  the  day,  and  fulfil  their  destiny  when, 
set  in  gold,  they  contribute  to  the  world's  beauty,  or  pass  from 
hand  to  hand  as  agents  in  the  world's  affairs.  If  it  be  culpable 
to  hoard  our  worldly  goods  when  we  see  our  brother  have  need, 
it  is  worse  to  keep  back  our  good  thoughts — far  more  needed 
than  food  or  raiment.  "  Man  shall  not  live  by  bread  alone." 

See  with  what  simplicity  even  Poetry  is  content  to  teach  the 
humblest  truths  : 

Distempered  nerves 

Infect  the  thoughts  ;  the  languor  of  the  frame 
Depresses  the  soul's  vigor.    Quit  your  couch — 
Cleave  not  so  fondly  to  your  moody  cell ; 
Nor  let  the  hallowed  powers  that  shed  from  Heaven 
Stillness  and  rest,  with  disapproving  eye 
Look  down  upon  your  taper,  through  a  watch 
Of  midnight  hours  unseasonably  twinkling. 
Take  courage — and  withdraw  yourself  from  ways 
That  run  not  parallel  to  Nature's  course. 
Rise  with  the  lark  !  your  matins  shall  obtain 
Grace,  be  their  composition  what  it  may, 
If  but  with  hers  performed. 

One  might  suppose  such  a  homily  taken  from  Armstrong's 
Art  of  Health,  but  it  is  Wordsworth  who  condescends  to  lec 
ture  on  early  rising.  Why  are  homely  themes  considered  incon 
sistent  with  great  ones — or  the  low  with  the  high  ?  Why  not 
learn  from  Nature  how  common  things  borrow  dignity  from  the 
medium  through  which  they  pass  ?  If  it  were  not  for  a  petty 
notion  as  to  the  graceful  and  the  worthy,  many  a  fresh  thought 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  5f 

would  fall  like  dew  ou  the  world's  parched  heart,  instead  of  ex 
haling  in  mere  "  peculiarity " — is  not  that  the  word  for  those 
who  wish  to  be  true  to  the  inward  promptings  ? — or  dropping  in 
tears,  through  despair  of  sympathy  or  fellowship. 

The  sincere  horror  which  many  people  feel  at  the  name  of 
authorship  is  a  mere  delusion  ;  for  who  is  shocked  at  being  the 
author  of  a  long  letter — a  veritable  piece  of  composition  ;  of  a 
conservatory,  an  exhibition  of  taste  ; — or  of  a  great  blotchy 
looking  piece  of  worsted-work,  a  proof  of  misapplied  perseve 
rance  ; — or  a  new  fashion,  an  attempt  at  invention  ?  But  a 
book  !  Ah  !  that  is  the  bugbear.  But  if  a  book  were  simply 
an  ebullition — a  manifestation — an  expression  of  sentiment — a 
token  of  the  within — why  should  pride  or  diffidence  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  it  ? 

Is  a  person  supposed  to  be  invariably  proud  of  the  book  he 
writes  ?  How  often  is  it  an  engine  of  the  keenest  mortification, 
from  its  failure  to  express  his  thought  1  Instead  of  being  sus 
pected  of  pride  or  vanity,  the  author  deserves  credit  for  humility, 
when  he  throws  himself  before  the  world,  saying — "  Here  is  my 
thought — do  you  like  it  ?  I  hope  you  do  I  To  me  it  seems  to 
have  a  true  life,  and  I  sow  it  in  hope  that  it  may  spring  up  and 
bear  fruit  in  other  hearts." 

If  we  were  contented  with  things  as  they  are — if  no  pictures 
of  the  possible  ever  colored  the  shifting  surface  of  our  thoughts — 
if  the  actual  world  were  beautiful  enough,  and  our  actual  lot  in 
it  happy  enough,  to  satisfy  the  longings  of  the  divine  within 
us — it  would  be  less  wonderful  that  we  should  feel  no  impulse 
towards  bringing  our  inner  and  higher  selves  into  communica 
tion  with  the  secret  hearts  of  those  about  us.  People  walking 
at  leisure  over  a  flowery  plain,  with  no  fixed  object  in  view,  no 


58  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

difficulties  to  surmount,  no  advice  to  ask,  no  aid  to  give,  might 
naturally  enough  stray  about  in  silence,  caring  little  for  each 
other  for  want  of  a  common  object.  But  ascending  a  rugged 
steepv  beset  with  snares  and  pitfalls,  and  cheered  by  few  pas 
sages  of  beauty — leading  none  the  less  to  all  that  the  imagina 
tion  and  the  heart  were  created  to  covet — can  we  plod  on, 
with  no  need  of  sympathy,  no  interest  in  the  success  or  failure 
of  others,  no  desire  to  make  our  hard-earned  knowledge  of 
parts  of  the  way  useful  to  the  toiling  ?  Especially  when  we 
find  flowers  and  fruit,  is  it  generous  not  to  tell  ? 

One  good  result  of  shaping  and  fixing  our  thoughts  in  words, 
is  the  greater  power  and  prominence  given  to  the  Ideal  by  thus 
endowing  it  with  a  body  something  less  spiritual  than  its  own. 
Its  influence  for  good — for  refreshment — for  consolation; — is 
greater,  both  for  ourselves  and  others,  when  we  have  caught 
and  held  it  while  it  can  be  examined  and  applied.  We  call  its 
effects  illusion,  sometimes  ;  are  they  not  rather  truth,  and  the 
common  and  vulgar  in  which  we  are  content  to  live  the  illu 
sions  ? 

We  are  shy  of  confessing  our  Ideal  ;  the  world's  formalities 
and  pretended  realities  govern  us  with  so  deadly  a  power. 
Heartless  ridicule  is  the  sharpest  of  swords  to  a  sensitive  mind. 
Not  all  the  consciousness  of  truth  and  worth  that  earnest  sincer 
ity  of  purpose  inspires,  can  fully  shield  us  from  the  fear  of  this  ; 
and  many  a  thought  is  crushed  into  silence  by  despair  of  sympa 
thy.  In  this  view,  authorship  may  indeed  be  deemed  a  craft  or 
mystery  by  itself,  since  it  requires  elements  not  found  in  every 
character  ;  there  is  sensitiveness, — yet  it  does,  not  suffice  to 
deter  ;  and  seeming  despair,  yet,  with  a  secret  talismanic"  drop 
of  hope  at  the  core — hope  that  amid  the  scorn  of  the  many  will 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  59 

yet  be  found  that  precious  elixir — the  sympathy  of  the  few. 
Without  this,  no  one  could  write,  even  though  he  "  understood 
all  mysteries." 


There  is  no  phantom  that  we  chase  more  hopelessly  than 
Leisure.  If  it  does  not  come  to  us,  we  need  never  give  our 
selves  the  trouble  of  pursuing  it.  If  it  be  for  us,  we  can  find  it 
in  town  ;  if  not,  we  shall  be  as  far  from  it  in  the  country.  We 
carry  ourselves  and  our  habits  with  us  wherever  we  go,  and  cir 
cumstances,  though  important,  have  less  to  do  with  the  disposi 
tion  of  our  time  than  we  suppose.  We  never  quite  leave  home 
behind,  or  we  should  more  easily  be  content  with  new  scenes 
and  people.  Every  day  of  our  refugees  brought  its  full  employ 
ment  with  it  ;  each  morning  had  its  plan — offspring  mostly  of 
the  doings  of  the  day  before.  Every  body  wondered  that  there 
was  so  little  time  for  anything  !  "I  have  not  accomplished  a 
bit  more  here  than  I  should  have  done  at  home  !"  murmured 
Miss  Grove,  plaintively,  over  her  worsted-work. 

Rural  amusements  are  particularly  thievish  of  time,  from  the 
fatigue  they  occasion.  There  is  a  sweet  weariness  after  a  day 
in  the  fresh  air,  that  leaves  us  fit  for  nothing  but  talking  or 
dreaming.  This  idle  fallow  state  of  mind  and  body  is  good  for 
both,  let  severe  utilitarians  say  what  they  will. 

"  I  feel  positively  ashamed,"  would  Miss  Ingoldsby  excla'.m, 
of  my  idleness.  Not  a  single  thing  of  any  value  have  I  done 
since  we  came  here.  I  brought  books,  they  are  almost  un 
opened  ;  work,  I  have  hardly  even  thought  of  it.  This  will 
never  do  !  See  what  an  amount  of  spinning  our  hostess  and 


60  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

her  daughters  have  finished !  That  huge  pile  of  rolls  in  the 
upper  chamber  is  diminished  more  than  half,  andj;he  basket  of 
skeins  has  grown  proportionably.  And  this,  besides  all  the 
baking  and  butter-making  for  us — for  we  eat  as  if  we  earned 
our  appetites !" 

"  I'm  sure  I  earn  mine,"  said  her  father ;  "  don't  you  call 
rowing  over  to  the  island,  yesterday,  something  ?" 

"  Why,  father,  you  did  not  touch  an  oar  !"  said  Miss  Ingolds- 
by,  laughing. 

"  No,  indeed  !  it  was  quite  enough  to  broil  so  far  in  the  sun. 
I  shall  not  make  many  such  expeditions  with  you.  If  you  are 
so  fond  of  the  island,  why  not  encamp  there  ?  there  is  plenty  of 
shelter  ;  those  old  huts  are  good  enough  for  a  party  of  romantic 
ladies  and  gentlemen." 

"  0  !  that  would  be  so  nice  1"  said  all  the  young  ladies  at 
once,  and  the  thing  was  carried  by  acclamation. 

"  But  beds  !"  said  Mrs.  Marston. 

"  0,  you  might  come  back  in  the  evening.  To  go  over  in  the 
morning,  with  provisions  for  the  day,  might  do  very  well  ;  but 
these  broils  for  pretended  fishings,  I  can't  encourage.  You  might 
give  Elinor  one  of  the  caves  on  the  north  side  for  a  House 
of  Industry,  to  which  those  who  brought  consciences  with  them 
into  the  country  could  retire  for  certain  portions  of  the  day, 
while  we  hardened  ones,  who  came  on  purpose  to  be  idle,  could 
find  amusement  for  ourselves." 

"  And  take  naps  undisturbed,"  said  Miss  Ingoldsby,  slyly. 

"  Naps,  indeed  !  One  can  never  meditate  without  being  sus 
pected  of  napping  !  But  really,  I  have  reason  to  think  our 
hosts  would  be  glad  to  have  a  little  breathing  time  ;  Mrs.  Tor- 
bet  hints  something  about  wanting  to  '  clean  up  ;'  you  know  this 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  61 

is  her  first  experience  of  a  constant  house-full.  She  has  hitherto 
had  only  an  occasional  lodger  or  two — an  artist  or  a  city  fisher 
man — for  short  periods  ;  and  as  she  received  us  at  some  sacrifice 
to  her  orderly  habits,  I  think  it  would  be  but  kind  to  absent 
ourselves  as  much  as  possible  for  a  few  days." 

The  idea  took,  amazingly  ;  the  younger  members  of  the  party 
thought  it  would  be  nice  to  sleep  over  there,  too,  but  this 
was  vetoed.  A  few  boat-loads  of  conveniences  furnished  the 
two  fishermen's  huts  quite  satisfactorily  to  the  zealous  pick-nick 
ers,  and  the  vicinity  of  the  island  to  the  shore  made  supplies  by 
no  means  difficult.  There  was  a  perceptible  brightening  of  eyes 
and  reddening  of  cheeks  when  the  preparations  were  begun. 
Such  flying  up  and  down  stairs  !  Such  breathless  consultations, 
such  wise  housewifely  expedients  !  Time  flew  faster  than  ever, 
and  such  sharp  appetites  were  earned,  that  Mr.  Ingoldsby  ob 
served  he  feared  it  would  prove  but  a  poor  speculation  for  Mrs. 
Torbet,  after  all. 

THE  ISLAND. 

The  first  day  was  spent  mostly  in  making  arrangements  and 
saying  how  pleasant  it  was  ;  on  the  second,  Miss  Ingoldsby 
established  her  House  of  Industry,  and  invited  all  well-disposed 
persons  to  give  it  their  countenance  during  certain  warm  hours 
of  the  day.  It  was  a  sort  of  cavern,  looking  out  upon  the  sea  ; 
rather  broad  than  deep,  but  well  fringed  with  shrubs  and  vines, 
and  easily  eked  out,  as  to  shade,  by  the  aid  of  a  gay  calico  cur 
tain  of  Mrs.  Torbet's.  There  was  a  cool  spring  near,  over 
which  it  was  proposed  Mrs.  Egeria  should  preside  ;  but  this  was 
soon  found  to  have  the  effect  of  depriving  the  commonwealth  of 


62  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

the  services  of  her  Numa,  instead  of  only  fitting  him  for  public 
duty.  Miss  Berry  discovered  new  exploring  ground  for  her 
favorite  pursuit,  and  could  not  find  much  leisure  for  qivct  home 
industry  ;  but  Mr.  Berry,  Mrs.  Marston  and  Mrs.  Whipple  were 
constant  attendants  at  the  House  of  Industry,  while  the  circle 
was  fitfully  enlarged  by  the  rest,  as  rambling,  fishing,  boating, 
or  picking  the  small  fruits  that  grew  plentifully  about  the  rocks, 
gave  them  leisure,  or  made  them  desire  repose.  Mr  Ingoldsby 
felt  it  his  duty  to  pay  some  attention  to  the  preparations  for 
dinner,  so  that  he  lingered  a  good  deal  about  the  huts,  where 
that  mundane  affair  was  transacted.  George  Marston,  being  at 
an  age  when  the  mere  exertion  of  the  muscles  is  pleasure,  per 
formed  no  small  amount  of  rowing,  and  sometimes  persuaded 
Mr.  Aldis  to  help  him  ;  but  that  gentleman  found  the  exercise 
bad  for  his  hands,  his  nerves,  and  his  scrupulous  delicacy  of  cos 
tume.  He  preferred  attending  his  sister  and  Miss  Grove,  who 
frequently  became — so  to  speak — a  little  weary  of  the  grave 
pursuits  of  the  House  of  Industry,  and  planted  themselves  in  a 
narrow  woody  dell  hard  by,  where  they  devotedly  worked  cush 
ions,  knit  tidies,  or  braided  slippers,  while  Mr.  Aldis  read  poetry 
to  them,  original  and  selected. 

It  is  strange  what  a  home  feeling  springs  up  under  such  cir 
cumstances  ;  how  a  thousand  pleasant  domestic  habits  grow  into 
the  day's  doings,  supplying  the  place  of  novelty,  incident  and 
enterprise.  Nature  is  ever  ready  to  hint  to  us  where  to  find  the 
sweetest  and  most  constant  pleasures,  as  soon  as  we  can'  be  per 
suaded  to  lay  from  our  weary  shoulders  the  burden  of  conven 
tion.  This  living  on  the  island  and  being  driven  to  a  multitude 
of  expedients  and  inventions  to  supply  deficiencies,  gave  more 
pleasure  to  all,  than  the  most  elaborate  provision  of  comforts 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  63 

could  have  done,  that  left  uo  room  for  personal  exertion  and 
ingenuity.  The  ladies  declared  they  were  living  their  baby- 
house  days  over  again,  playing  dinner-and-tea-company  ; 
making  one  movable  do  the  work  of  a  dozen  ;  and  the  rudest 
fragment  seem  an  article  of  furniture  or  decoration,  all  by  the 
magic  of  imagination. 
It  was 

Broken  tea-cups,  wisely  kept  for  show — 

in  the  true  spirit  of  the  poet.  Fancy,  with  the  reins  on  her 
neck,  playing  the  pleasantest  antics  imaginable,  and  nobody  to 
point  the  reasonable  finger,  and  bring  on  a  feeling  of  silliness 
and  shame  at  the  thought  of  being  so  easily  amused. 

This  came,  however  ;  for  there  was  one  day  a  most  unex 
pected  and  only  half-welcome  irruption  from  Lavington — a 
party  who,  being  on  a  summer  tour,  had  concluded, — Apropos 
to  nothing — to  make  a  visit  to  their  rusticating  friends,  and  see 
how  they  and  solitude  were  agreeing.  There  was  Miss  In- 
goldsby  arranging  a  bouquet  of  wild  flowers  for  the  dinner 
table,  in  a  vase  which  had  very  much  the  look  of  a  superannu 
ated  pitcher  ;  Mrs.  Whipple  preparing  grasses  for  preservation 
with  fingers  none  of  the  cleanest  ;  Mrs.  Marston  helping  the 
tidy  little  maid  of  Mrs.  Torbet  to  shell  a  great  basket  of  fresh 
peas  ;  all  the  young  people  scouring  the  rocks,  and  suffering  all 
sorts  of  disfigurements  among  the  briers,  in  search  of  fruit  for 
the  dessert ;  Miss  Berry  ever  so  far  out  in  the  water,  dripping 
like  a  ncreid,  and  her  brother  watching  her  from  the  beach  with 
some  anxiety,  under  shelter  of  an  enormous  -umbrella.  Mr. 
Ingoldsby  alone  retained  some  pretension  to  gentility,  for  he  sat 
on  the  shady  side  of  the  hut  in  which  his  daughter  was  flitting 


64  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

about,  his  handkerchief  on  his  head,  occasionally  looking  in  at 
the  little  window,  of  what  was  facetiously  termed  the  saloon, 
making  remarks  upon  passing  affairs  in  a  dolce  far  nientt  sort  of 
way,  now  exclaiming  at  Miss  Berry's  occupation,  now  wondering 
when  the  young  folks  would  return,  now  asking  some  fatherly 
question  about  the  dinner  arrangements,  which  were  ordinarily 
not  a  little  modified,  perhaps  benefited,  by  the  care  he  had 
learned  to  feel  about  such  things,  as  he  said,  during  a  long 
period  of  widowhood. 

Upon  our  party,  thus  primitively  and  carelessly  disposed, 
down  came  a  whole  carriage-load  of  gay,  idle,  fashionable  tra 
vellers,  full  of  questions  and  wonders,  and  not  a  little  inclined 
to  quiz  the  simplicity  which  could  enjoy  a  rusticity  so  absolute. 
And  we  dare  not  aver  that  the  philosophy  of  our  friends  was 
wholly  unruffled,  when  the  new-comers  examined  into  their  daily 
occupations  and  amusements,  and  could  not  hide  their  surprise 
that  that  was  all !  "  Is  it  possible  you  can  prefer  this  to  a  good 
hotel  ?" 

Happy  he  who  cannot  be  tempted  to  try  his  happiness  by 
another's  standard  ! 

The  younger  members  came  in,  like  the  Miss  Flamboroughs, 
"  all  blowsed  and  red  with  walking,"  and  wanted  to  run  away, 
but  there  was  no  hiding-place  but  the  other  hut,  with  its  cook 
ing-stove  and  seething  dinner.  So  they  were  obliged  to  show 
their  fragmentary  selves,  with  whom  the  briers  had  made  sad 
havoc.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sheldon  presented  a  tolerably  decent 
figure,  for  they  had  been  reading  in  some  cunning  arbor  in  the 
woods,  not  so  far  off  but  they  could  hear  the  fresh  and  high- 
pitched  voices  of  the  visitors,  and  now  descended,  cool  as  possi 
ble,  to  assist  in  doing  the  honors.  Mr.  Ingoldsby's  great 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  65 

solicitude  was  about  the  dinner  ;  but  the  housewifely  thought 
of  Mrs.  Torbet  had  foreseen  the  difficulty,  and  she  was  already 
packing  into  the  boat  sundry  good  things  which  her  time  of  res 
pite  had  enabled  her  to  prepare.  So  there  was  no  lack,  either 
of  eatables  or  appetite  ;  and  the  feast,  though  spread  when  the 
sun  had  not  long  passed  the  meridian,  was  full  of  relish  and 
hilarity,  all  little  embarrassments  forgotten. 

Every  body  who  felt  at  home  was  now  anxious  to  do  the 
honors,  for  the  guests'  enjoyment  of  the  rural  dinner  had  some 
what  modified  the  distrust  with  which  they  were  first  received. 
Each  point  of  view,  every  lovely  woody  dell,  all  the  seaward 
caves,  were  visited  in  turn,  for  the  bounds  were  narrow,  and 
seemed  still  smaller  when  exhibited  for  admiration. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is  that  we  are  so  happy  here,"  said 
Miss  Ingoldsby,  apologetically,  "  unless  it  is  that  mankind  has, 
after  all,  a  good  deal  of  taste  left  for  savagery.  I  confess  this 
place  would  lose  great  part  of  its  charm  for  me  if  it  were 
habitually  occupied  by  parties  of  pleasure.  I  love  its  freshness, 
its  rudeness,  the  mark  of  nature's  fingers  every  where.  I  would 
not  have  it  '  improved '  for  the  world. 

I  love 

A  savage  place,  as  holy  and  enchanted 

As  e'er  beneath  a  waning  moon  was  haunted — " 

"  You  are  quite  poetical,  I  declare  I"  said  one  of  the  ladies. 

"We  came  here  on  purpose,"  Mr.  Berry  replied  ;  "and  Miss 
Ingoldsby  is  trying  hard  not  to  be  ashamed  of  it  while  you  are 
here." 

"  0,  it  must  be  perfectly  delightful,"  said  the  lady,  suppress 
ing  a  yawn.  "  I  quite  envy  you  1" 

Mrs.  "Whipple  was  voluble  in  praise  of  the  whole  affair,  for 


66  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

she  had  no  idea  of  letting  any  one  suppose  she  was  tired  of  it. 
She  had  never  been  so  happy  in  her  life,  she  said. 
"  Miss  Ingoldsby  is  trying  to  win  Milton's  praise — 


Lady,  that  in  the  prime  of  earliest  youth 
Wisely  hast  shunned  the  Broad  way 


said  Mr.  Bradhurst,  one  of  the  newly  arrived,  thinking  of  the 
crowded  thoroughfare  he  was  most  familiar  with.  "  And  she 
has  shown  her  usual  taste.  But  who  is  the  lady  in  the  water  ?" 
Mr.  Berry  said,  laughing — "Since  it  is  the  fashion  to  quote 
Milton, — 

Sabrina  is  her  name,  a  virgin  pure; 
Whilom  she  was  the  daughter  of  Locrine. 
She,  guiltless  damsel,  flying  the  mad  pursuit 
Of  her  enraged  step-dame,  Guendolen, 
Commended  her  fair  innocence  to  the  flood, 
That  stay'd  her  flight  with  his  cross-flowing  course. 
The  water-nymphs,  that  in  the  bottom  stay'd, 
Held  up  their  pearled  wrists  and  took  her  in, 
Bearing  her  straight  to  aged  Nereus'  hall, 
Who,  piteous  of  her  woes,  rear'd  her  lank  head— 

but  whether  he  gave  her  that  great  straw  hat  I  cannot  say. 
By  mere  mundane  reckoning  she  is  my  sister,  bewitched  by 
alga,  but  otherwise  a  woman  of  some  sense  and  discretion." 
"  Miss  Berry  !  is  it  possible  ?  how  she  is  transformed  !" 
And   indeed   she  made   a  strange  figure,  wading   painfully 
towards  the  shore,  not  seeing  the  strangers  at  all — her  costume 
a  decided  "  Bloomer."     All  her  party  felt  somewhat  ashamed 
of  her,  though  ashamed  of  themselves  for  feeling  so. 

"  She  pursues  beauty  after  her  own  fashion,"  said  her  bro 
ther 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  6t 

To  her  the  meanest  film  that  floats  can  bring 
Thoughts  that  do  almost  lie  too  deep  for  sneers — 

Pardon  me — I  was  led  on  by  stress  of  parody.  As  to  my  sis 
ter's  passion  for  those  slimy  pets  of  hers,  I  may  characterize  it 
in  the  words  of  another,  if  you  will  allow  a  little  license  : 

Her  sanity  of  reason  not  impaired, — 

(whatever  you  may  think  from  present  appearances,) 

Say  rather,  all  her  thoughts  now  flowing  clear 
From  a  clear  fountain  flowing,  she  looks  round 
And  seeks  for  weeds,  and  flnds  the  weeds  she  seeks, 
Until  abhorrence  and  contempt  are  things 
She  only  knows  by  name ;  and,  if  she  hear 
From  other  mouths  the  language  which  they  speak, 
She  is  compassionate,  and  has  no  thought, 
No  feeling,  that  can  overcome  her  love.'1 

Miss  Berry  had  by  this  time  reached  the  shore,  and  perceived 
herself  to  be  the  observed  of  all  observers.  The  great  straw 
hat  could  not  conceal  her  blushes,  but  she  soon  found  her  selt- 
possession,  and  stood  quietly  while  the  little  maid  wrung  the 
water  from  her  skirts. 

"  You  see  how  hard  we  work  for  amusement,"  she  said. 

"  Why  don't  you  confess  the  truth,"  said  her  brother,  laugh 
ing, — "  that  we  came  here  on  purpose  that  we  might  be  foolish 
without  being  ridiculous  ?  All  winter  long  the  town  compels  a 
pretence  of  wisdom,  or  its  counterfeit,  gravity  ;  and  if  we  go 
into  the  fashionable  country,  the  necessity  continues.  Here  we 
have  leave  to  air  our  nonsense  and  cultivate  our  whims." 

"There  must  be  plenty  of  time  to  live  the  'inner  life 'here," 
said  a  gentleman  of  the  new-comers,  "  if  abstraction  from  earthly 
things  be  essential  to  that — " 


68  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

"  We  are  not  so  much  abstracted  as  you  might  suppose,"  Mr. 
Berry  replied  ;  "  we  are  getting  acquainted  with  common  things 
— we  are  looking  down  into  the  machinery  of  life — drawing 
sage  conclusions  as  to  the  working  of  that  machinery — studying 
humanity  in  the  abstract,  as  it  were." 

"  Precious  little  humanity  you  can  see  here,  I  should  think  1" 
said  Mr.  Bradhurst. 

"  What  we  do  see  is  genuine  ;  and  besides,  we  see  a  good  deal 
that  is  not  here.  You  do  not  know  the  advantage  that  we 
have  for  studying  you  all  at  a  distance  ;  how  philosophically  we 
scan  your  motions  and  spy  out  the  secret  of  your  pursuits.  The 
wise  sayings  we  have  uttered  on  human  life  and  action  and  the 
emptiness  of  worldly  pursuits,  would  fill  a  respectable  volume." 

"  I  wish  you  would  write  them  down,  that  we  may  quote 
them  to  you  next  winter,  when  you  are  as  deeply  immersed  as 
ourselves — all  the  more  deeply  for  the  self-complacency  you  are 
gathering  now,  which  will  leave  you  more  vulnerable  than  ever. 
We'd  '  bring  your  proverbs  to  confute  your  life.'" 

"  Like  the  rest  of  the  world,  we  shall  be  so  content  with  the 
wise  things  we  have  said,  that  we  can  easily  console  ourselves 
for  the  inconsistency  of  our  doings.  Besides,  we  have  only  to 
adopt  the  popular  philosophy,  which  teaches  that  our  actions 
are  of  small  moment  provided  our  sentiments  be  noble." 

"  On  that  plan,"  said  Mr.  Bradhurst,  "I  do  not  see  but  you 
may  lay  up  a  large  amount  of  virtue  here,  and  have  the  privi 
lege  of  drawing  from  your  stock  for  a  long  time  after.  At  any 
rate,  I  hope  you  will  write  the  book.  I  should  be  delighted  to 
see  your  sifting  of  these  conventional  ideas,  to  which  we  are  all 
so  enslaved.  One  must  have  studied  life  from  various  stand 
points,  to  do  the  thing  well." 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  69 

"  We  have  something  of  the  kind  in  contemplation,"  said 
Miss  Ingoldsby,  "  though  whether  it  will  be  as  wise  a  book  as 
you  propose  is  not  yet  settled." 

"  Let  it  be  a  picture  of  fashionable  life,  by  all  means,"  said 
Mr.  Bradhurst,  "  with  grave  saws  on  the  danger  of  wealth,  and 
recommendations  to  rural  life  and  simplicity.  Be  sure  you  end 
by  making  your  heroine  become  a  member  of  several  charitable 
societies." 

"  If  I  do,  I  shall  make  her  say  very  wise  things  on  the  ad 
vantages  of  combined  effort — " 

"  I  dare  say  !  Ladies  are  never  at  a  loss  for  ingenious  reasons 
to  justify  what  they  choose  to  do." 

"  Be  sure,'-  said  Mr.  Ingoldsby,  "  to  let  her  grow  so  indiffer 
ent  to  the  things  of  this  life  as  never  to  know  what's  for  dinner 
until  she  sees  it  on  the  table." 

"  Ah,  papa,"  said  Elinor,  "  that  is  a  stroke  at  my  poor 
housekeeping." 

"  All  literary  ladies  are  alike,"  said  her  father,  "  and  the 
heroines  they  draw  are  like  themselves,  not  very  practical  I" 

"  I  wish  you  would  write  a  novel,  father,"  said  Miss  Ingolds 
by  ;  "I  should  like  to  see  your  ideal  women  !" 

"  It  would  be  a  family  portrait,  I  suspect,"  said  Mr.  Brad- 
hurst,  archly. 


This  visit  was  not  entirely  without  results,  for  the  random 
talk  it  brought  suggested  some  things  to  the  minds  of  our 
sojourners,  and  modified  and  systematized  their  employments  a 
little.  What  we  say  in  joke  is  often  half  earnest  ;  and,  while  it 
is  allowed  that  this  little  truth  accounts  for  a  good  deal  of  the 


70  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

iil-will  that  is  in  the  world,  it  must  also  be  conceded  that  good 
ideas  are  sometimes  suggested  in  joke,  that  would  never  have 
been  broached  seriously.  Mr.  Bradhurst's  hint  of  a  book  con 
taining  such  views  of  fashionable  life  as  would  be  likely  to  pre 
sent  themselves  to  a  ruralizing  party,  who  could  be  cheaply 
wise  while  looking  at  the  world  from  a  distance,  did  not  slide  off 
at  once  amid  the  other  badinage  of  the  hour.  Several  of  the 
party  mused  upon  it,  and  felt  that  the  Island,  with  its  exciting 
yet  quiet  life,  and  perfect  abandon,  ("wars  ust  the  place  for  writ 
ing,  since  it  so  much  favored  reflection  and  remark. 

"  If  solitude  thy  steps  hath  ever  led 
To  the  wild  ocean's  echoing  shore, 

And  thou  hast  lingered  there 

Until  *he  sun's  broad  orb 
Seemed  resting  on  the  burnished  wave, 

Thou  must  have  marked  the  line 
Of  purple  gold  that  motionless 

llung  o'er  the  sinking  sphere. 

Miss  Ingoldsby  repeated  these  lines  in  a  soft,  musing  voice,  as 
she  looked  from  the  beach  that  evening,  after  the  guests  had 
departed,  while  the  whole  atmosphere  was  aglow  with  those 
delicious  sunset  hues  that  seem  like  heaven  let  down  upon  a 
peaceful,  happy  earth.  Purple  was  the  tint  most  felt,  a  purple 
that  gave  the  poet's  "  hyacinthine  flow"  to  the  dark  locks  of 
the  speaker  ;  but  the  fires  had  not  all  faded,  for  a  light  as  of 
ruddy  gold  was  on  her  cheek,  and  on  her  whole  figure,  as  she 
stood,  her  light  scarf  fluttering  in  the  rising  wind  of  sunset. 

"  Unhappily  for  your  quotation/'  said  Mrs.  Marston,  "  you 
cannot  see  the  sun  from  here. 

"  How  literal  you  are,  Mrs.  Marston  !     I  saw  the  sun  when 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  71 

I  repeated  the  verses.  Are  one's  bodily  eyes  all  ?  When  a 
poet  suggests  a  picture,  I  do  not  care  to  compare  items." 

"  Imagination  makes  the  best  clairvoyants,"  said  Mr.  Berry. 
"  Miss  Ingoldsby  is  an  excellent  sleep-waker.  A  '  world  beyond 
the  visual  scope'  is  always  open  to  her,  while  we,  poor 
outsiders,  are  straining  our  eyes  and  wits  after  the  actual." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Berry,  though  I  do  not  quite  know 
whether  you  are  in  jest  or  earnest.  The  impressions  left  on  my 
mind  by  beauty  of  any  kind,  are  not,  I  am  conscious,  as  denned 
and  accurate  as  they  should  be,  and  I  have  an  instinctive  fear 
of  examining  and  attempting  to  regulate  them,  lest  they  evapo 
rate  in  the  process." 

"  I  was  not  jesting — you  are  quite  right — why  should  you 
analyze  ?  Leave  that  to  the  critics.  Let  them  pick — cater — 
while  you  enjoy.  It  is  not  every  thing  that  will  bear  pulling  to 
pieces  ;  a  cobweb  is  annihilated  in  the  process,  yet  a  cobweb,  all 
rainbowed  over  with  sun  and  dew,  is  very  beautiful.  If  one 
should  attempt  to  demonstrate  the  beauty  of  one  of  those 
changeable  silks  that  you  ladies  are  so  fond  of,  by  drawing  out 
the  threads  to  show  how  the  effect  is  produced,  what  would  be 
come  of  the  lustre  and  harmony  ?  There  is  no  very  close  anal 
ogy  between  the  aspect  of  earth  and  sky  at  this  hour  and  the 
beauty  of  the  human  countenance  ;  yet  I  never  see  a  rich  even 
ing,  like  this,  close  in  after  a  brilliant  day,  without  thinking  of 
the  contrast  between  a  laughing  blonde  and  the  dark  splendor 
of  southern  beauty,  which  seems  to  have  absorbed  the  sunshine 
that  the  other  reflects." 

"  A  scene  like  this,"  pursued  Miss  Ingoldsby,  "  excites  emo 
tion,  and  such  emotion  is  so  much  better  expressed  in  poetry 
than  in  prose,  that  I  am  content  to  seize  on  the  first  lines  which 


72  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

come  naturally  to  my  thoughts,  even  though  to  another  they 
may  seem  hardly  descriptive." 

"  Their  presenting  themselves  is  proof  that  they  are  descrip 
tive,"  said  Mr.  Berry.  "  The  poet  thought  little  of  items. 
One  who  knows,  tells  us  how  such  things  are  prompted  : 

His  spirit  drank 

The  spectacle '  sensation,  soul  and  form, 
All  melted  into  him:  they  swallowed  up 
His  animal  being;  in  them  he  did  live, 
And  by  them  he  did  live ;  they  were  his  life. 
In  such  access  of  inind,  in  such  high  hour 
Of  visitation  from  the  living  God, 
•  Thought  was  not :  in  enjoyment  it  expired. 

Why  not  use  them  in  an  equally  liberal  spirit  ?" 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Berry,"  said  Mrs.  Marston,  "  your  armory  is  so 
well  furnished  with  poetical  reasons  for  whatever  you  choose  to 
support,  that  it  is  vain  to  contend  with  you.  We  must  try  to 
see  the  sun  where  he  is  not,  when  you  and  Miss  Ingoldsby  will 
it  so." 

"  You  will  lose  nothing  by  at  least  feeling  him  where  he  is 
not,"  said  Mr.  Berry.  "  What  a  delicious  haze  is  about  us 
now  !  It  is  as  if  the  air  were  filled  with  powdered  gold." 

"  Yes — like  the  Dantzic  brandy  that  John  Gray  gave  us  one 
day,"  said  Henry  Marston,  who  had  been  amusing  himself  by 
switching  up  little  wreaths  of  dry  sea-weed,  with  a  cane,  which 
habitually  furnished  a  large  part  of  his  occupation  when  he  was 
not  fishing.  "  I  never  in  my  life  saw  any  thing  so  beautiful  as 
that  brandy  !  It  was  full  of  little  bits  of  gold  leaf,  that  moved 
about  as  if  they  were  alive." 

Every  body  laughed  at  this  odd  association  of  sunset  with  a 
rich  liqueur,  but  it  was  not,  after  all,  a  very  unnatural  one. 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  73 

Deliciousness  of  any  kind  is  akin  to  deliciousness  of  every  kind. 
Perhaps  each  one  of  the  company  had,  at  the  moment,  in  the 
secret  recesses  of  thought,  some  association  with  the  scene, 
which,  if  told,  would  have  seemed  hardly  more  directly  connect 
ed  with  it  than  Henry  Marston's.  But  the  boy,  careless  of 
reputation  and  accustomed  to  sympathy,  blurted  out  his  rough 
thought,  while  men  and  women,  long  subjected  to  the  social 
world,  hid  theirs,  instinctively. 

A  pause  ensued — for  convention,  which  forces  us  to  be  silent, 
can  hardly  force  us  to  talk,  when  the  soul  has  flown  off,  with 
wings  just  snatched  from  memory,  to  regions  whither  no  common 
companions  can  follow.  The  air  was  darkening,  and  that  chill 
coming  which  seems  all  the  chillier  for  the  glow  of  the  past 
hour.  The  far-off  line  where  heaven  and  ocean  leaned  one 
against  the  other  was  nearly  lost  in  the  blending  color  of  the 
two,  and  a  silver  gleam  danced  over  the  black  waves  in  the 
middle  distance.  Enough  of  sunset  tone,  however,  lingered  in 
the  air,  to  prolong  the  enchantment  of  the  scene  ;  and  the  stars 
flashed  out,  at  first  one  by  one,  afterwards  in  quicker  succession, 
and  then  in  troops,  as  if  there  was  a  festival  in  heaven,  the  out 
ward  signs  of  which  were  vouchsafed  to  mortal  eyes. 

"  Do  you  know  why  the  planet  Yenus  is  so  beautiful  to  us  ?" 
said  Mr.  Aldis,  who  was  generally  suspected  of  studying  earthly 
stars  with  much  more  devotion  than  heavenly  ones. 

Most  of  the  party  took  the  question  for  a  conundrum,  and 
sundry  desperate  and  some  gallant  guesses  were  hazarded. 

"  Oh  no — but  really — there  is  a  reason.  It  is  because  she  is 
so  ugly  on  a  nearer  view." 

"  Pray  who  has  seen  her  nearer  ?"  said  Mrs.  Marston,  always 
disposed  to  be  literal. 


74  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

"  Astronomy,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Aldis,  meekly.  "  It  is  under 
stood — seen,  indeed,  as  well  as  if  one  were  poised  on  the  point 
of  one  of  our  moon's  horns,  with  a  boundless  privilege  of  exam 
ination, — that  Venus  is  a  mass  of  barren  and  cloud-capped 
mountains,  which  reflect  every  ray  of  the  sun.  A  soft,  green, 
arable  surface  would  make  a  shabby  evening  star  for  us." 

"  Vive  la  laideur  /"  said  Miss  Ingoldsby. 

"It  is  positively  the  only  instance  I  ever  knew  in  which  ugli 
ness  was  an  advantage,"  said  the  gallant  Aldis,  with  a  look  of 
general  application,  meant  to  include  all  the  ladies.  He  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  communicating  this  tid-bit  of  astronomic 
information  to  his  female  friends,  with  an  express  reference  to 
the  nice  things  it  gave  him  occasion  to  say. 

"  You  cannot  deny  that  beauty  is  sometimes  a  disadvantage," 
eaid  Mrs.  Marston. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  madam,"  said  Mr.  Aldis,  discomfitted  at  being 
thus  pushed  from  the  pinnacle  whence  he  meant  to  have  dis 
pensed  a  shower  of  pretty  compliments,  "  what  a  sentiment  ! 
Beauty  a  disadvantage  1" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Marston,  in  her  quiet  way,  "  unless 
coquetry  is  commendable.  Beauty  certainly  makes  a  great 
many  coquettes." 

"  Do  you  think  so  1"  exclaimed  Miss  Berry  ;  "  I  must  say  I 
have  fancied  that  security  of  pleasing  preserved  some  pretty 
women  from  those  unhandsome  efforts  to  attract  interest  which 
constitute  coquetry.  Certainly  some  of  the  plainest  women  I 
have  known  have  been  among  the  vainest." 

"  Unless  we  believe  beauty  to  be  the  result  of  mere  accident," 
observed  Mr.  Berry,  "  we  have  a  right  to  expect  good  qualities 
where  we  find  it,  though  Nature's  fitnesses  may  in  all  cases  be 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  75 

marred,  in  a  great  degree,  by  untoward  circumstances.     I  intu 
itively  look  for  goodness  where  I  see  beauty." 

"  That  is  rather  a  hard  doctrine  for  us  plain  people,"  said 
Mrs.  Whipple. 

"  I  hardly  know  any  plain  people,"  replied  Mr.  Berry,  not 
taking  the  bait ;  "  for  the  darkest  complexion,  the  most  oblique 
nose,  the  worst  marking  with  small-pox,  does  not  make  a  face 
ugly  for  me.  I  can  discern  the  original  beauty  through  all 
those.  It  is  only  when  the  structure  of  the  face  is  bad  that  I 
find  it  absolutely  devoid  of  beauty,  and  behind  such  faces  I  con 
fess  I  never  look  for  goodness,  though  culture  and  grace  may 
do  much." 

"  I  heard  a  painter  say  once,"  said  Mrs.  Whipple,  "  that  he 
had  never  been  able  to  transfer  to  canvas  the  beauty  he  saw  in 
the  plainest  face,  although  to  ordinary  apprehension  some  of 
these  faces  were  ugly  enough,  and  he  was  accused  of  '  flatter 
ing'  them." 

"  There  must  be  some  truth  in  the  old  proverb— 
Beauty  lies 
In  lookers'  eyes — " 

said  Mr.  Ingoldsby. 

"  So  much,"  said  Mr.  Berry,  "  that  I  believe  if  a  dozen 
women,  chosen  indiscriminately,  were  passed  in  review  before 
twice  as  many  men,  every  one  of  them  would  find  an  admirer — 
that  is,  one  who  would  pronounce  her  handsomer  than  the  rest." 

"I  see  you  are  determined  to  console  us,  Mr.  Berry,"  said 
Mrs.  Marston,  laughing  ;  "  you  found  your  first  observations 
were  getting  you  into  trouble,  and  you  are  adroitly  drawing  off." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  replied,  "  It  is  only  want  of  space  for 
amplification  that  makes  me  seem  to  hold  untenable  opinions 


76  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

with  regard  to  beauty.     One  does  not  want  to  seem  a  preacher, 
under  the  light  of  an  evening  like  this." 

"  Why  not  take  your  subject  into  our  book  ?"  said  Miss 
Ingoldsby  ;  "  there  would  be  ample  space  for  your  '  opinions,' 
odd  as  they  may  be." 

"  Agreed  !  but  we  are  all  to  help — " 

"  Oh  yes — and  then  we  can  all  put  in  our  saws — " 

"  Any  thing  but  augers,"  said  Mr.  Ingoldsby. 

Everybody  laughed  at  this  sally  of  the  old  gentleman,  but  as 
the  party  returned  home  in  the  boat  that  evening,  the  book  was 
further  discussed,  and,  in  spite  of  modest  disclaimers,  fairly 
planned  and  agreed  upon.  The  rotation  of  authorship  was  to 
be  decided  by  lot ;  each  chapter  to  be  read  aloud  in  full  con-, 
clave,  and  accepted  or  rejected  by  candid  vote,  every  body 
promising  not  to  be  offended.  Any  amount  of  private  consulta 
tion  was  admissible,  and  no  digression  to  be  complained  of; 
the  House  of  Industry  to  be  given  up  for  a  certain  number  of 
hours  every  morning  to  the  writer  of  the  day. 

"  We  shall  find  Mrs.  Shelton  out,  now,"  said  Mr.  Berry  ; 
"  she  cannot  keep  herself  any  longer  so  cunningly  behind  the 
veil  of  silence." 

The  fair  Egeria  blushed,  and  said  she  feared  she  should  make 
a  poor  figure  as  a  writer,  but  no  one  believed  this,  for  she  had 
the  air  of  one  on  whom  nothing  was  lost  ;  one  of  those  who 

Fear 

No  petty  customs  or  appearances, 
Bnt  think  what  others  only  dream  about ; 
And  say  what  others  dare  but  think ;  and  do 
What  others  would  but  say ;  and  glory  in 
What  others  dared  but  do — 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  77 

As  if  she  never  school'd  within  her  breast 
One  thought  or  feeling,  but  gave  holiday 
To  all 

And  yet  we  must  not  let  the  poet  betray  us  into  giving  an  idea 
that  she  was  bold,  or  less  than  exquisitely  feminine.  The 
world  is  so  unused  to  candor  in  women,  that  it  almost  demands 
disguise  ;  and  to  be  true  in  speech,  however  gently,  stamps  a 
woman  an  Amazon,  in  some  apprehensions.  Not  so  with  our 
friend  Shelton,  who  loved  this  trait  in  Egeria,  and  met  it  well 
by  equal  truthfulness,  devoted  as  he  was.  This  probably  ac 
counted  for  the  fact  that  they  were  never  tired  of  being 
together,  and  talked  but  little  with  other  people.  They  prom 
ised  to  try  a  chapter  between  them,  and  Mr.  Berry  slyly  advised 
them  to  let  it  be  one  of  their  three-hour  woodland  talks. 

That  very  evening  the  lots  were  drawn,  and  the  first  chapter 
fell  to  the  share  of  Mr.  Berry,  just  as  every  body  hoped  it 
would. 

"Now  don't  be  too  hard  upon  us,  Mr.  Berry,"  said  the 
ladies  ;  "  your  first  chapter  will  of  course  be  the  key  of  the 
whole.  Be  merciful — don't  cut  out  too  much  work  for  us  !  If 
you  plan  a  story,  do  not  sketch  out  too  many  characters  for  us 
to  fill  in  ; — if  an  essay,  let  it  be  a  light  one,  not  too  learned — " 

"  If  I  understand  rightly,"  said  the  pioneer,  "  all  we  want  is 
some  slight  web,  into  which  our  various  sentiments,  called  into 
livelier  life  by  this  fostering  shade  and  sunshine,  may  be  woven, 
for  our  delectation  in  after  time,  and  in  memory  of  our  summer 
sojourn.  This  is  all,  isn't  it  ?  I  am  not  sure  but  our  circum 
stances  are  better  suited  to  thinking  than  to  writing  down  our 
thoughts.  Cumberland  said  any  beauty  of  outward  objects 
about  his  study  distracted  his  attention  and  impoverished  his 


78  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

fancy  ;  he  loved  best  to  write  with  a  dead  brick  wall  before 
him." 

"  Oh  the  cave — the  House  of  Industry  !  that  is  the  very 
place  !  nothing  but  sky  and  ocean  before  you,  and  the  vanish 
ing  line  so  far  off  that  there  seems  no  barrier  between  you  and 
the  infinite.  One's  thoughts  will  come  naturally  and  flow 
smoothly  there,  untangled  with  conventions — untinged  with 
prejudices.  0,  we  shall  do  great  things,  I  foresee  I" 

So  spake  Miss  Ingoldsby,  the  golden  current  of  whose  spirits 
was  already  quickened  by  the  new  plan,  and  reflected  a  thou 
sand  pleasant,  dancing  fancies.  She  cheered  on  her  kind  bach 
elor-friend  to  his  work,  and  ushered  him,  in  laughing  state,  to 
the  House  of  Industry,  which  she  had  new  decked  for  the  occa 
sion,  adding  great  branches  of  evergreen  for  more  shade,  and  a 
carpet,  "  lest  the  chill  of  the  sand-floor  should  strike  to  the 
writer's  brain,"  she  said.  Over  the  little  table  was  pinned  a 
scroll,  on  which  figured  this  inscription,  in  antique  character : 

Here  is  a  place 

To  meditate  thy  sylvan  music  in. 
Doth  not  the  work  grow  warmer  with  the  hum 
Of  fervent  bees,  blithe  murrnurers  at  their  toil  f 
Here — weary  waif  of  life  !  find  happiness — 
Here  make  thy  quletary !    O  believe  me, 
Seclusion  is  the  blesserlest  estate 
Life  owns !    Would'^t  be  among  the  blest  on  earth, 
Hie  hither ! 

"  One  would  think  you  expected  me  to  be  very  romantic," 
said  the  debutant,  "  but  if  so  you  will  be  sadly  disappointed  ; 
for  those  who  are  always  borrowing  poetry  from  other  people 
are  sure  to  be  hopelessly  commonplace  themselves.  But  run 
away,  all  of  you — giglets — and  leave  me  to  my  dreams,  such  as 
they  may  be." 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  79 

The  next  evening  but  one — in  the  old  farm-parlor,  after  the 
party  had  returned  from  the  island, — a  solemn  session  was  held 
upon  the  first  chapter  of  the  new  book,  the  reading  of  which 
was  intrusted  to  Miss  Ingoldsby,  as  the  blushful  modesty  of  the 
writer  forbade  his  giving  it  voice  himself. 

"  This  I  suppose  is  to  be  called  the  seedling  chapter,"  said  the 
reader. 

"  Pray  don't  call  it  the  preface  1  Prefaces  are  so  dull  1" 
exclaimed  Miss  Grove,  and  some  of  the  others. 

Mr.  Berry  waited  very  patiently  till  all  had  spoken,  and  then 
said,  "  Any  thing  you  like,  but  wait  till  it  is  accepted  before 
you  name  it." 

Miss  Ingoldsby  began  with  the  motto,  from  Spenser's  Hymn 
to  Beauty,  which  we  should  love  to  quote  entire,  for  its  pith 
and  suggestiveness  : 

"How  vainely  then  do  ydle  wits  invent, 
That  beautie  is  nought  else  but  mixture  made 
Of  colours  faire  and  goodly  temp'rament 
Of  pure  complexions  that  shall  quickly  fade 
And  passe  away,  like  to  a  summer's  shade ; 
Or  that  it  is  but  comely  composition 
Of  parts  well  raeasur'd,  with  meet  disposition  I 

*  So,  every  spirit,  as  it  is  most  pure, 
And  hath  in  it  tbe  more  of  heavenly  light, 
So  it  the  fairer  bodie  doth  procure 
To  habit  in,  and  it  more  fairely  dight 
With  chearfull  grace  and  amiable  sight; 
For  of  the  soule  the  bodie  forme  doth  take ; 
For  soule  is  forme,  and  doth  the  bodie  make." 

"  Monstrous  long  motto,"  said  Mr.  Ingoldsby. 

"  It  contains  the  sense  of  the  chapter,"  replied  the  author. 

"  Ah  I  that  indeed  I"  said  the  old  gentleman,  dryly. 


80  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

"Three  gentlemen  were  discussing — as  gentlemen  sometimes 
will — the  chances  of  happiness  in  matrimony,  and  the  various 
circumstances,  cautions,  errors  and  delusions,  which  influence  or 
affect  those  chances. 

"  Nothing  would  tempt  me  to  marry  a  beauty,"  said  one. 

"  Why  not  ?"  inquired  another.  "  If  you  had  said  that 
nothing  would  tempt  you  to  marry  for  beauty,  I  could  have  said 
amen  ;  but  surely  beauty  could  be  no  objection." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  the  third,  "  although  I  would  not  marry 
for  beauty,  I  certainly  would  never  marry  without  it." 

Here  were  three  friends,  who  agreed  on  most  points,  wholly 
at  variance  on  that  important  one,  the  choice  of  a  wife.  The 
first  who  spoke  had  passed  thirty,  and  began  to  look  on 
marriage  as  a  terrible  risk  ;  something  on  which  a  man  must 
beware  of  trusting  his  fancy  ;  a  matter  with  which  imagination 
must  have  nothing  to  do.  He  thought  married  happiness,  if 
found  at  all,  must  be  found  mathematically — each  step  tried 
and  proved,  and  the  whole  brought  to  irrefragable  demonstra 
tion.  It  was  because  this  care  was  not  taken,  he  said,  that 
there  are  so  many  unhappy  matches  in  the  world. 

Beauty,  therefore,  as  it  proves  nothing,  he  considered  a 
useless,  or  even  a  pernicious  element  in  the  calculation.  "  One 
who  wishes  to  steer  by  the  compass  dreads  all  distracting 
forces.  A  man  can  judge  more  coolly  of  a  woman's  character 
if  there  be  no  charms  of  face  to  warp  his  appreciation.  Sweet 
smiles  may  seem  amiable  ;  a  fair,  smooth  brow,  gentle  ;  dimpled 
cheeks,  cheerful  and  good-humored.  Time  will  spoil  these 
things,  and  then  what  remains  ?  It  is  better  to  build  one's 
hopes  on  solid  foundations — to  love  on  rational  principles. 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  81 

How  many  evils  would  the  adoption  of  this  plan  have  pre 
vented  !" 

Somebody  once  said,  "the  progress  of  science  gives  us  reason 
to  hope  that  in  time  physicians  will  be  able  to  ascertain  and 
cure  the  diseases  of  the  human  frame,  with  as  much  ease  and 
accuracy  as  the  watchmaker  discovers  and  regulates  the  aberra 
tions  of  a  time-piece."  A  comfortable  prophecy,  but  unhappily 
spoiled  by  a  commentator,  who  remarks  that  when  the  progress 
of  science  enables  the  watchmaker  to  mend  a  watch  while  it  is 
going,  we  may  indeed  hope  to  see  the  type  realized  in  human 
affairs.  It  is  not  difficult  to  apply  this  citation  to  the  opinion 
of  our  bachelor  friend  on  matrimony. 

The  second  speaker,  still  lingering  in  the  fringes  of  the  twen 
ties,  could  not  decide  so  philosophically  as  to  the  unimportance 
of  that  which  has,  in  a  thousand  ways  and  in  all  ages  of  the 
world,  vindicated  its  right  to  be  considered  as  one  of  the  great 
moving  forces  of  life.  His  own  heart  had  told  him  that  one 
might  as  well  reason  against  its  pulsations,  or  attempt  to  force 
back  the  blood  which  it  sends  rushing  to  the  cheek  at  the  very 
sight  of  a  beautiful  face,  as  contemn  the  value  or  underrate  the 
power  of  personal  loveliness.  Thus  sensible  of  its  influence,  he 
was  willing  to  assign  beauty  its  due  weight  in  that  great 
balance  on  which  so  much  of  life's  hope  depends,  while  he  pru 
dently  decided  that  it  ought  not  to  bribe  Fancy  to  turn  the 
scale.  Wise  young  man  1 

So  young  so  wise  they  say  do  ne'er  live  long. 

The  third  speaker  had  no  air  of  rashness  further  than  was 
implied  in  the  remark  we  have  quoted.  Not  marry  without 
beauty  !  He  had  seen  almost  thirty  years,  and  as  much  of  life, 


82  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

in  a  quiet  way,  as  men  generally  see  in  that  time ;  and  pos 
sessed,  among  his  friends,  a  reputation  for  unusual  steadiness  of 
character. 

"  Why,  Ellis,"  said  the  first  speaker,  "  that  is  the  last  senti 
ment  I  should  have  expected  from  you  !  Is  it  possible  you  con 
sider  beauty  a  matter  of  such  moment  ?" 

"  How  can  I  consider  it  otherwise  ?  I  place  it  only  where 
Providence  has  placed  it.  Beauty  is  necessary  to  my  happi 
ness  ;  I  was  born  to  love  it." 

"  Yes — beauty  in  general — not  mere  human  beauty,  how 
ever." 

"  Mere  human  beauty  !  What  an  expression  !  Can  one 
see  beauty  in  stars  or  flowers  who  does  not  see  it  a  thousand 
fold  in  the  human  countenance  and  figure  ?" 

"01  grant  you — a  beautiful  face  is  very  charming,  but  we 
were  talking  of  marriage,  which  is  a  matter  to  be  settled  for 
life.  If  beauty  enter  into  the  calculation,  a  man  may  be  but 
poorly  off  after  it  is  gone,  as  it  soon  must  be.  Except  as  a  sign 
of  the  qualities  which  beauty  ought  to  represent,  I  care  little 
for  it — in  the  choice  of  a  wife,  I  mean." 

"  You  grant  me  all  I  ask.  It  is  as  a  sign  that  I  consider  it 
essential,  and  lasting,  too.  True  beauty  cannot  fade." 

"  Come,  come — you  are  wandering  from  the  point — leading  us 
off  from  the  absurdity  of  your  looking  upon  beauty  as  essential 
in  a  wife,  by  transferring  the  assertion  to  the  beauty  which  is 
the  result  of  inward  excellence.  On  that  kind  we  have  no  dis 
pute  with  you." 

"  But  you  are  mistaken  if  you  suppose  that  my  beauty  is  to 
be  merely  symbolical.  I  insist  on  the  outward  graces  of  clear 
complexion,  bright  eyes,  harmonious  features,  and  a  graceful 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  g3 

person.  No  hard-featured,  angular,  shrill-voiced  angel  would  do 
for  me.  Such  must  find  mates  in  men  like  you,  who  scorn  the 
aid  of  imagination.  I  look  upon  a  truly  beautiful  face  as  a  sort 
of  transparency,  made  to  glow  and  dazzle  by  the  light  behind 
it.  If  the  picture  be  opaque,  some  one  else  may  peep  and  pry 
after  the  lamp — I  cannot." 

"  It  is  plain  to  see  that  you  do  not  believe  in  the  goodness 
of  ugly  girls." 

"  In  their  goodness,  y«s — in  their  charminguess,  no.  If  my 
sister  were  very  plain  my  affection  for  her  would  be  none  the 
less,  for  in  that  case  love  began  before  criticism  awoke.  With 
regard  to  any  other  woman  it  is  different.  There  can  be  no 
love  without  some  degree  of  fascination,  and  with  me  there  is  no 
fascination  without  beauty. " 

"  It  is  happy  for  women  that  all  men  are  not  of  your  mind. 
As  to  myself,  for  instance,  intellect  is  much  more  apt  to  en 
danger  my  liberty  than  mere  beauty." 

"  What — intellect  alone  !  without  feminine  graces — without 
evidence  of  heart  qualities  !  Would  you  have  your  wife  chop 
logic  with  you — think  of  convincing  while  you  think  of  dining — 
talk  blue  to  your  visitors — be  on  the  watch  for  her  rights 
rather  than  her  duties — harden  herself  by  theorizing  and  criti 
cising  !  Give  me  a  woman  to  whom  her  husband  and  her 
household  are  of  the  first  importance,  and  who  is  able  by  her 

sweet  domestic  graces,  to  console,  to  soften "  Mr.  Ellis 

stopped,  nearly  out  of  breath  with  his  own  vehemence. 

"Why,  really,"  said  his  cooler  friend,  "I  had  no  idea  you 
had  studied  this  matter  so  deeply,  or  felt  so  warm  an  interest  in 
it.  Has  not  your  theory  a  practical  basis — is  there  not  some 


g4  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

fair  original  of  this  fine  picture  ?— or  is  your  imagination  the 

sole  artist  ?" 

Mr.  Ellis  blnshed  a  little,  and  did  not  reply  directly.     "  My 
notions,"  said  he,  "  date  from  as  far  back  as  I  have  thought  of 
the  subject  at  all.    Woman  seems  to  me  to  have  a  special  office 
in  the  world— to  be  the  chief  harmonizer,  consoler  and  beauti- 
fier  of  human  existence  ;  to  be  an  angel  of  peace  and  mercy  ; 
to  humble  herself  that  she  may  be  exalted,  to  obey  that  she 
may  rule  ;  endowed  with  a  rare  instinct  of  right,  which  fits  her 
for  interposing  between  man's  passions  and  his  actions,  to  be  an 
impartial  spectator  and  judge  of  the  struggle  of  life,  and  a 
guard  against  its  worst  temptations." 
"  And  is  beauty  essential  to  all  this  ?" 
"  Certainly  ;  for  she  must  first  win  man's  heart,  and  get  the 
great  power  of  imagination  on  her  side.    Without  this,  she  can 
be  but  as  man  to  man.     Her  friendship  with  him,  be  it  ever  so 
sincere  and  steady,  will  be  subject  to  the  dangers  of  dispute  and 
rivalry.     Esteem  there  may  be,  but  esteem  does  not  exclude  the 
pride   and   self-reservation  which  so  limit   and   chill   ordinary 
friendship." 

"  You  would  not  have  love  without  friendship  ?" 
"  No — but  no  sooner  friendship  without  love." 
"  What  do  you  think  of  this  description  of  friendship  ?    I 
am  not  sure  but  I  may  trace  back  some  of  my  notions  to  it : 

A  flower  which,  fresh  as  Lapland  roses  are, 

Lifts  its  bold  head  into  the  world's  pure  air, 

And  blooms  most  radiantly  when  others  die — 

Health,  hope  and  youth,  and  bright  prosperity 

And,  with  the  light  and  odor  of  its  bloom, 

Shilling  within  the  dungeon  and  the  tomb *  , 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  §5 

"  Think  of  it  ?  that  it  is  love  to  be  sure  !  the  more  as  the  de 
scription  of  the  '  friend/  directly  after,  suits  my  idea  of  a  wife 
extremely  well  : 

A  lovely  sonl,  formed  to  be  blessed  and  bless ; 
A  well  of  sealed  aud  sacred  happiness  ! 
A  lute,  winch  those  whom  love  has  taught  to  play, 
Make  music  on,  to  cheer  the  roughest  day. 

I  think  I  could  be  quite  content  with  such  friendship  and  such 
a  friend." 

"  But  there  is  not  a  word  about  beauty  !" 

"  That  is  presupposed.  Don't  you  see  that  no  mere  mortal 
could  actually  fulfil  all  these  dreams,  and  that  in  order  that  they 
may  be  enjoyed  there  must  first  be  some  illusion  ?  Illusion  there 
must  be,  and  some  find  it  in  wealth,  some  in  position,  some  in 
accidental  circumstances  ;  you,  it  seems,  in  intellect,  which  daz 
zles  and  astonishes " 

"  There  is  no  illusion  about  intellect." 

"  You  might  as  well  say  there  is  no  illusion  about  wealth — 
that  a  man  who  marries  a  rich  wife  for  her  money,  gets  all  that 
he  expected.  It  is  not  so.  Not  supposing  any  decidedly  mer 
cenary  motive,  there  is  yet  a  charm  about  the  appliances  of 
wealth  which  often  makes  young  men  sincerely  think  they  are  in 
love,  when  in  truth  the  same  girl  without  money  would  never 
attract  them  for  a  moment.  So  with  your  intellectual  flame — 
the  pleasure  you  find  in  her  brilliancy  leads  you  to  fancy  that 
all  is  in  unison  with  this  charm.  Now  I  hold  that  my  illusion 
is  not  only  the  most  gracious  but  the  most  natural  and  safe,  for 
beauty  is,  after  all,  and  even  according  to  your  chilly  view,  a 
gymbol,  which  wealth  is  not,  nor  position,  nor  yet  your  idol,  in 
tellect." 


86  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

"  What  did  the  poet  mean  by  '  something  than  beauty  dear 
er  ?'  Is  it  not  what  we  can  all  discern  in  the  faces  of  those  we 
love  r 

"  Certainly — in  the  faces  of  those  we  already  love.  If  my 
beloved — provided  I  had  one — were  to  lose  her  face  by  the 
small-pox,  I  think — I  am  sure — I  could  love  on,  perhaps  all  the 
more  tenderly  for  a  touch  of  pity.  And  so  with  the  changes 
wrought  by  time — the  original  image  would  maintain  its  place, 
and  overpower,  with  its  very  shadow,  all  the  creeping  unseemli 
ness  and  sad  changes  of  years." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  pity  may  be  an  element  of  love  ;  and 
if  so,  why  not  the  pity  which  one  feels  for  a  very  plain  woman  ?" 

"  I  think  pity  a  very  unsafe  foundation.  If  the  cause  be 
lasting,  one's  life  must  be  permanently  the  sadder  ;  if  it  be 
temporary,  there  is  danger  that  all  charm  may  depart  with  it. 
As  to  loving  a  plain  woman  through  pity,  it  would  certainly  be 
very  generous,  but  rather  dangerous  ;  unless  one  had  thorough 
ly  tried  the  temper  and  durability  of  one's  generosity  before,  for 
such  exalted  states  do  not  last.  Besides,  it  would  be  very  fool 
ish  in  you  to  pick  out,  for  your  devotion,  a  woman  who  was 
plain  to  you,  since  there  might  very  likely  be  men  to  whom  she 
was  not  plain,  and  who  would  therefore  have  a  more  natural  and 
certain  affinity  with  her." 

"  0,  then,  your  beauty  is  not  altogether  a  thing  of  rule — 
something  to  be  defined  and  inventoried,  tested  and  decided 
upon  without  appeal  1  You  count  affinity  for  something — " 

"  For  much,  for  it  seems  to  be  essential  to  that  mysterious 
thing  which  we  call  fascination,  in  these  cases." 

"  If  this  affinity  and  this  fascination  are  so.  powerful,  it  is 
strange  there  are  so  many  unhappy  marriages." 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  gf 

"  It  is  because  men — and  women  too — set  out  with  the  idea 
that  fascination  is  just  the  thing  they  must  resist ;  that  mar 
riage,  being  a  serious  matter — as  it  certainly  is,  and  something 
more  terrible,  even — must  be  undertaken  like  the  transfer  of  an 
estate,  with  all  the  forms  of  law — no  poetry — no  trust — no 
glory — no  romance.  They  put  the  whole  thing  into  the  form 
of  a  problem,  and  when  all  the  ifs  are  answered  properly,  go  on 
in  the  comfortable  conviction  that  they  have  acted  wisely,  when 
in  truth  they  have  only  been  completing  arrangements  for  pass 
ing  life  in  a  sort  of  minor  key — the  joy-chords  renounced — the 
running  bass  of  care  and  sorrow  certain,  while  the  heart-cheer 
ing  majors  and  soaring  lark-trills  which  belong  to  love  are  out 
of  the  question  for  ever." 

"  I  do  not  see  but  you  would  banish  prudence  altogether — " 

''Not  at  all — but  I  would  keep  it  in  its  place,  which  is 
secondary,  at  best.  I  would  have  prudence  do  the  work  of  pru 
dence,  not  the  work  of  love.  When  I  marry — if  I  ever  do 
marry — you  will  probably  think  me  very  imprudent.  I  shall 
not  proceed  scientifically.  I  shall  be  disposed  to  apply  to  that 
subject  what  I  remember  reading  on  a  different  one — '  Logical 
processes  cannot  demonstrate  every  problem  worthy  of  our  faith. 
The  whole  man  must  advance  to  the  proof  of  a  spiritual  prob 
lem,  and  he  must  test  it  by  his  totality  of  thought  and  feeling. 
Then  faith  in  a  thing  indemonstrable  becomes  a  rational  pro 
longation  of  reason.'  " 

"  You  are  more  scientific  than  I,  after  all — at  least  you 
attempt  to  find  a  key  which  shall  unlock  all  mysteries — a 
spiritual  passe-partout.  After  all,  I  dare  say  we  do  not  differ 
essentially.  You  must  remember  that  all  I  said  at  the  begin 
ning  was  that  I  would  not  marry  a  beauty.  Now  by  a  beauty 


88  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

I  mean  soi  ething  very  different  from  a  handsome  woman.  A 
beauty  is  one  whose  outward  loveliness  is  the  most  striking 
thing  about  her — the  thing  first  thought  of  and  mentioned 
where  she  is  spoken  of — her  distinction,  in  short.  It  must 
require  an  amount  of  excellence  almost  past  hoping  for,  to  bear 
this  without  serious  injury  to  the  character.  Such  a  woman  is 
subject  to  the  insidious  influence  not  only  of  direct  and  obvious 
praise, — against  which  we  can  imagine  a  rare  specimen  of  the 
sex  to  be  on  her  guard, — but  of  the  continual  and  involuntary 
flattery  of  every  eye  she  meets — a  far  subtler  and  more  intoxi 
cating  incense,  which  must  have  intense  operation,  for  good  or 
evil — and  who  questions  which  ? — on  the  habits  of  the  mind.  I 
should  fancy  that  in  this,  as  in  other  cases,  the  more  potent  the 
stimulus  and  the  more  fixed  the  habit,  the  more  demoniac  would 
be  the  irritability  which  must  result  from  its  withdrawal.  I 
should  be  sorry  to  be  the  husband  of  a  decaying  beauty." 

"  You  have  but  a  poor  opinion  of  the  sex,  evidently  ;  and  you 
do  not  believe  as  I  do  in  the  significance  of  beauty.  Is  it  possi 
ble  you  can  call  that  face  beautiful  which  has  in  it  the  expres 
sion  of  a  mean,  narrow,  egotistic  soul ;  a  heart  untouched  by 
generous  affection — a  mind  wholly  occupied  by  trifles  ?" 

"  No — but  a  worshipper  of  beauty  is  liable  to  be  so  dazzled 
by  the  magic  of  colors  and  lines,  as  not  to  perceive  the  real 
character  of  the  entire  expression." 

"  I  never  saw  a  face  in  which  character  was  not  the  first 
thing  that  struck  me.  The  human  face  is  Heaven's  title-page 
to  the  great  book  of  mind,  and  it  gives  truly  the  main  topic,  at 
least.  And  unlike  other  title-pages,  it  grows  clearer  and  more 
legible  with  age.  It  may  require  a  practical  or  even  a  pro 
phetic  eye  to  read  it  early  ;  but  day  by  day  its  letters  deepen 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  89 

and  increase  in  number,  until  at  last  it  becomes  a  tolerable 
table  of  contents." 

"You  grow  figurative.     Yet  there  are  hypocrites — " 
"  True — but  hypocrisy  is  written,  too." 
"  Swedenborg  thinks  that  the  face  is  but  a  marred,  distorted, 
or  imperfect  manifestation  or  expression  of  the  soul,  here ;  but 
that  in  the  other  life  it  asserts  its  supremacy  more  fully,  so  that 
the  body  is  compelled  to  conform  without  reservation.     This 
change  will,  however,  be  gradual,  and  hypocrites,  true  to  their 
habits,  will   be   the   last   to  undergo   it   in   its   completeness. 
When  it  is  accomplished,  they  are  to  be  the  most  hideous  in 
aspect  of  all  sinners." 

"  They  are  so  now  ;  but  Swedenborg  deserves  the  world's 
gratitude  for  the  picture.  To  be  the  ugliest  man  in  eternity — 
what  a  destiny  1" 

"  Yes — for  you  lovers  of  beauty  I  After  all,  except  as  an 
expression  of  moral  qualities,  beauty  must  be  a  matter  of  taste 
— subject  to  no  rules — " 

"  What  says  our  oracle  in  '  Modern  Painters  ?' — '  Perfect 
taste  is  the  faculty  of  receiving  the  greatest  possible  pleasure 
from  those  material  sources  which  are  attractive  to  our  moral 
nature  in  its  purity  and  perfection.  Taste,  properly  so  called,  is 
the  instinctive  and  instant  preferring  of  one  material  object  to 
another,  without  any  obvious  reason,  except  that  it  is  proper  to 
human  nature  in  its  perfection  to  do  so.  *  *  All  our  moral 
feelings  are  so  inwoven  with  our  intellectual  powers,  that  we 
cinnot  affect  the  one  without  in  some  degree  addressing  the 
other  ;  and  in  all  high  ideas  of  beauty  it  is  more  than  probable 
that  much  of  the  pleasure  depends  on  delicate  and  untraceable 
perceptions  of  fitness,  propriety  and  relation,  which  are  purely 


90  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

intellectual.  *  *  But  yet  there  is  no  immediate  exertion  of 
the  intellect ;  that  is  to  say,  if  the  person  receiving  even  the 
noblest  ideas  of  simple  beauty  be  asked  why  he  likes  the  object 
exciting  them,  he  will  not  be  able  to  give  any  distinct  reason, 
nor  to  trace  in  his  mind  any  formed  thought  to  which  he  can 
appeal  as  a  source  of  pleasure.' " 

"  All  that  is  very  true  ;  but  I  doubt  whether  the  human  face 
is  included,  since  its  beauty  is  any  thing  but  simple.  The 
'  Howadji'  thinks  the  perfection  of  all  beauty  consists  in  bal 
ance — '  as  the  most  exquisite  of  summer  days  so  breathes  balm 
into  a  vigorous  and  healthy  body  that  the  individual  exists 
without  corporeal  consciousness,  yet  is  then  most  corporeally 
perfect.  Beautiful  balance,  which  is  the  character  of  perfection 
in  human  character  or  nature,  allows  no  prominent  points. 
Washington  is  undoubtedly  always  underrated  in  our  judgment, 
because  he  was  so  well  proportioned  ;  and  the  finest  musical 
performance  has  such  ease  and  quiet,  and  the  colors  and  treat 
ment  of  a  fine  picture  give  such  propriety  and  harmony,  that  we 
do  not  at  once  know  how  fine  it  is.  It  is  the  cutting  of  a  razor 
so  sharply  edged  that  we  are  riot  conscious  of  it.  We  have  all 
seen  the  same  thing  in  beautiful  faces.  The  most  permanent  and 
profound  beauty  did  not  thrill  us  ;  but  presently,  like  air  to  the 
lungs,  it  was  a  necessity  of  inner  life,  while  striking  beauty  is 
generally  a  disproportion,  and,  so  far,  a  monstrosity  and  a  fault. 
Men  who  feel  beauty  most  profoundly  are  often  unable  to  recall 
the  color  of  eyes  and  hair,  unless,  as  with  artists,  there  is  an  in 
voluntary  technical  attention  to  those  points.  For  beauty  is 'a 
radiance  that  cannot  be  analyzed,  and  which  is  not  described 
when  you  call  it  rosy.  Wanting  any  word  which  shall  express 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  91 

it,  is  not  the  highest  beauty  the  synonym  of  balance  ?'  Does 
this  seem  to  you  just  ?" 

"  I  believe,  in  order  fully  to  accept  it,  I  should  substitute 
'  harmony'  for  '  balance.'  But  I  love  the  Howadji  for  saying 
that  'nothing  in  nature  is  purely  ornamental.'  This  thought 
hallows  that  insatiable  thirst  after  beauty  which  the  prudent 
regard  as  a  temptation  and  the  narrow-minded  as  a  sin. 

We  live  by  admiration,  hope  and  love — 

yet  how  large  a  portion  of  mankind  endeavor  to  stifle  these  im 
pulses  of  nature,  and  to  close  up,  by  sordid  cares,  every  avenue 
provided  by  bounteous  Heaven  for  pure  and  exalting  pleasures  1 

We  need  not  seek  pleasure  ;  it  is  enough  to  fit  ourselves  to 

% 

receive  it.  It  is  a  flower  whose  odor  the  wise  inhale  in  perfec 
tion  in  the  open  air  and  hanging  on  its  fresh  stalk  ;  plucked 
and  crowded  and  deprived  of  wjiolesorne  atmosphere,  it  brings 
pain  and  death  to  those  who  seek  it  amiss.  But  shall  we  re 
nounce  its  use  ?  The  pursuit,  of  beauty  may  make  heartless 
egotists  and  sensualists,  but  it  is  none  the  less  conducive,  in 
natures  better  tempered,  to  the  highest  virtue  and  religion." 

Here  Davidson,  the  younger  of  our  three  friends,  gave  an 
unseemly  yawn,  to  signalize  his  recovery  from  a  nap,  the  natu 
ral  result  of  all  this  grave  discussion. 

"Where  are  you  now?"  he  said;  "who  gives  in?  Has 
Ellis  converted  you,  Whitethorue  ?" 

"  There  was  no  need  of  conversion,"  said  Mr.  Whitethorne, 
quietly.  "  We  think  very  much  alike  in  the  main  ;  but  Ellis, 
having  a  personal  interest  in  the  matter,  has  gone  further  into 
it  than  I  have,  and  I  chose  to  make  him  talk  it  out.  I  shall 


92  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

watch  very  closely  to  see  how  his  theory  answers  in  his  own 
case." 

"  On  the  other  hand,"  said  Ellis,  "  I  shall  remember  our  con 
versation  when  I  call  to  pay  my  respects  to  a  very  plain  Mrs. 
Whitethorne.  But  I  will  not  look  hard  at  you — that  would  be 
too  savage." 

"  I  give  you  leave  ;  the  woman  is  not  born  yet  that  I  shall 
marry." 

"  0,  then — you  contemplate  doing  a  very  foolish  thing  some 
years  hence  ?  Very  likely  ;  but  don't  say  I  led  you  into  it." 

"  You  may  both  please  yourselves  with  theorizing,  if  you 
will,"  said  Davidson.  "  I  am  no  philosopher  or  metaphysician, 
but  a  very  commonplace  fellow,  and  shall  content  myself  with 
falling  in  love  in  the  old-fashioned,  headlong  way.  Here,  in  a 
Reverie  I  have  been  reading, — Mrs.  Norton's — I  find  myself  and 
my  future  admirably  described  : 

"  Let  her  be  young,  yet  not  a  child, 

Whose  light  and  inexperienced  mirth 
Is  all  too  winged  and  too  wild 

For  sober  earth : 

Too  rainbow-like  such  mirth  appears, 
And  fades  away  in  misty  tears. 

"  Let  youth's  fresh  roses  still  gently  bloom 
Upon  her  smooth  and  downy  cheek ; 
Yet  let  a  shadow — not  a  gloom, 

But  soft  and  meek — 
Tell  that  some  sorrow  she  has  known, 
Though  not  a  sorrow  of  her  own. 

"  And  let  her  eyes  be  of  the  gray, 

The  soft  gray  of  the  brooding  dove, 
Full  of  the  sweet  and  tender  ray 

Of  modest  love : 

For  fonder  shows  that  dreamy  hue 
Than  lustrous  black  or  heavenly  blue. 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  93 

"  Let  her  be  full  of  quiet  grace ; 

No  sparkling  wit,  with  sudden  glow 
Brightening  her  pure  and  chisell'd  face 

And  placid  brow ; 
Not  radiant  to  the  stranger's  eye ! 
A  creature  easily  passed  by — 

("  Wit  wouldn't  do  for  me  at  all,"  said  Davidson,  parenthet 
ically.) 

"But  who,  once  seen,  with  untold  power 
For  ever  haunts  the  yearning  heart, 
Kaised  from  the  crowd  that  self-same  hour 

To  dwell  apart; 

All  sainted  and  enshrined  to  be 
The  idol  of  a  memory." 

"  That's  when  I've  fallen  in  love  with  her,  you  know  ; — that's 
to  be  her  distinction,"  continued  Davidson,  with  a  look  of  ex 
quisite  self-complacency,  half-sincere,  half-affected. 

"  Yery  reasonable,  indeed,"  said  Ellis.     All  you  ask  is 

No  Angel,  but  a  dearer  being,  all  dipt 
In  Angel  instincts— breathing  Paradise, 
Interpreter  between  the  gods  and  men. 

Very  reasonable  !" 

And  the  friends  separated,  each  well  content  with  his  own 
wisdom. 


A  dead  pause  followed  the  reading.  Mr.  Berry  was  tolerably 
philosophical,  as  people  having  a  due  allowance  of  self-esteem 
are  able  to  be  in  such  cases  ;  but  we  cannot  deny  that  he  felt  a 
little  fidgety. 


94  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

"  Most  righteous  judge — a  sentence  !  come — prepare  !"  he 
exclaimed,  misapplying  Shylock's  words  to  his  purpose.  "  Do 
not  keep  me  hanging  by  the  waist,  but  finish  me  at  once,  merci 
fully." 

Nobody  liked  to  speak  first,  but  some  one  at  length  mur 
mured — 

"Is  it  not  rather  grave  ?" 

"  Yes — and  a  little  formal  ?"  said  another — 

"  Shouldn't  you  have  described  them  a  little,  to  give  an  inte 
rest  ?"  was  the  third  critic's  hint — 

"  And  the  place  where  they  met" — said  Miss  Grove,  who 
read  novels  in  the  intervals  of  her  crewel  doings — 

"  What  I  most  admire,"  said  Miss  Ingoldsby,  "  is  the  mercy 
Mr.  Berry  has  shown  to  those  of  us  who  are  to  follow,  in  not 
providing  such  entanglements  at  the  outset  as  might  have 
proved  terribly  hampering  to  our  genius  in  the  unravelling.  He 
has  contented  himself  with  the  suggestion  of  the  simplest  possi 
ble  elements,  and  left  us  to  weave  our  own  webs  after  our  own 
fashion." 

But  Miss  Ingoldsby's  commendation  did  not  save  the  chapter. 
It  was  decided,  una  vnce,  to  be  too  grave,  and  the  author  with 
drew  it,  promising  heroically  to  take  his  chance  anew,  and  try 
again,  if  the  lot  should  fall  upon  him. 


The  next  trial  resulted  in  a  call  upon  Mrs.  Marston,  who  de 
clared  that,  with  this  warning  before  her,  she  should  take  car& 
to  be  frivolous  enough,  at  least. 

"  But  remember  what  we  said  to  Mr.  Berry,  and  do  not  cut 
out  too  much  work  for  your  successors,"  said  one  of  the  party. 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  95 

"  I  do  not  think  my  invention  will  overflow  into  any  great 
Tariety  of  characters,"  said  Mrs.  Marston,  laughing  ;  "I  am 
much  more  afraid  of  the  sin  of  penuriousness.  I  suppose, 
although  Mr.  Berry's  chapter  is  condemned,  I  may  make  use  of 
his  characters,  if  I  please  ?" 

"  0  certainly  1" — and  Mr.  Berry  declared  he  should  feel 
more  than  consoled  for  his  failure  if  his  suggestions  proved  of 
use — which  was  probably  the  lady's  benevolent  thought,-  for 
there  was  a  lingering  compunction  in  all  hearts  at  the  uncere 
monious  rejection  of  Mr.  Berry's  effort. 

"  I  promise  you  my  chapter  will  be  very  maternal,"  said  Mrs. 
Marston,  "for  I  must  draw  on  experience  for  inspiration." 


Miss  Ingoldsby  read  Mrs.  Marston's  chapter  too:  the  com 
pany  having  first  decided  to  call  the  new  undertaking 

THE  ISLAND  STORY. 

Eacb  several  life  yet  opens  with  the  view 
Of  that  unblighted  world  where  Adam  drew 
The  breath  of  being :  in  each  several  mind, 
However  cramped,  and  fettered,  and  confined, 
The  innate  power  of  beauty  folded  lies. 

The  bride  was  in  her  pearls — milk-white  ones  on  her  neck 
and  arms,  the  gift  of  love, — clear  glittering  ones  dropping  from 
her  eyes,  joy's  counterfeit  of  sorrow.  All  outward  preparations 
were  finished,  but  she  felt  as  if  the  inner  were  yet  to  begin — 


96  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

so  strange  did  the  present,  for  which  the  past  had  so  long  been 
laying  the  foundation,  seem  to  her  surprised  thoughts.  The 
misty  bridal  veil  hung  across  the  mirror,  waiting  the  summons 
which  must  bring  tears  and  fears  and  flutterings  to  a  point  ; 
but  there  was  another  veil — misty  too,  yet  consciously  felt — 
over  the  mind  of  the  young  girl,  usually  so  clear  and  careless. 
There  are  moments  which  reveal  us  to  ourselves — present  our 
past  like  one  unbroken  picture,  and  our  future  like  a  threat  or  a 
promise,  the  awful  alternative  to  be  decided  then  and  there. 
These  moments  are  God-given,  but  how  seldom  are  they  so  re 
garded  !  We  feel  the  compression  from  without  more  than  the 
impulse  from  within.  "  It  is  too  late  to  think."  Too  late  to 
think  !  It  may  be  so  with  regard  to  a  jaunt  into  the  country, 
when  friends  we  have  engaged  are  waiting  ;  but  for  a  journey 
from  which  there  is  no  return — is  it  ever  too  late  ? 

"  There  is  guidance  for  each  of  us,  and  by  lowly  listening  we 
shall  hear  the  right  word."  But  circumstances  so  fill  our  ears 
that  we  can  hear  nothing. 


The  clock  on  the  mantel  struck  the  half-hour.  Bridesmaids 
flitted  about,  like  changing  summer  clouds  in  the  rosy  light  of 
morning.  The  attendants  were  giving  the  last,  anxious  glances 
at  the  bride — sole  thought  of  the  hour — to  see  that  no  delicate 
ordering  of  graces  had  been  forgotten.  There  were  deep  con 
sultations  as  to  whether  it  would  be  practicable  for  her  to  carry 
the  wondrous  gleaming  fan  with  the  bouquet  and  handkerchief. 

"  Katherine,  darling,"  whispered  good  Aunt  Susan,  "  there 
are  a  few  minutes  yet ;  send  away  all  these  giddy  girls.  I 


SEARCH  AFTER  PLEASURE.  97 

want  to  talk  to  you  a  little,  dear.  Sit  down  by  me  on  the  sofa  ;" 
and  she  drew  the  ethereal  white  figure  towards  her. 

"  Oh — dear  Aunt — I  can't  possibly  sit  down  ! — it  would  tum 
ble  my  dress  so  !"  said  Katherine,  through  all  her  tears.  The 
outward  was  too  much  for  the  inward. 

A  pang  shot  through  the  good  heart  of  Aunt  Susan.  She  had 
held  fast  her  simplicity  of  soul  through  all  life's  changes  and 
temptations,  and  never  could  learn  to  believe  in  or  be  prepared 
for  any  thing  else  in  others.  She  half  perceived  how  deeply 
the  prospect  of  a  wealthy  marriage,  and  the  preparations  for  it, 
which  had  made  Katherine  the  single  object  of  attention  and 
effort  for  some  weeks,  had  already  tinged  the  natural  and  happy 
thoughts  of  the  young  girl.  But  she  was  all  indulgence  ;  her 
heart,  quick  as  lightning,  framed  an  excuse  for  the  seeming  friv 
olity,  and  she  yielded  her  point. 

"  Well,  dear,  we  will  stand,  if  you  like  it  better" — but  the 
change  of  position  quite  disconcerted  the  little  speech  she  had 
devised  for  the  seemly  unburdemnent  of  thoughts  that  would 
not  be  kept  down. 

"  Katherine,  darling,"  she  said,  repressing  the  impulse  to  put 
her  arm  round  the  graceful  waist  now  guarded  with  grandeurs, 
"all  I  wished  to  say  to  you  was  that — that  I  hoped — that  I 
was  afraid — that — I  wished  you  to  be  quite  certain — sure — that 
you  love  Mr.  Ellis  well  enough — " 

"  Oh  Aunt  Susan  !  how  can  you  !  do  you  think — can  you 
suppose — "  and  the  bride  looked  as  indignant  as  truth  and  na 
ture  would  let  her  ;  for  Aunt  Susan  had  touched  the  tender 
place  in  her  conscience, — the  place  she  had  found  too  tender  for 
her  own  handling. 

"  Have  patience  with  me,  my  love,  and  have  courage  to  look 
7 


98  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

at  the  truth,  be  it  what  it  will.  Have  you  ever  asked  yourself 
the  sinTple  question — Do  I  so  love  Mr.  Ellis  that  I  would  not 
only  prefer  him  to  all  other  men  if  I  were  again  free  to  choose, 
but  that  my  happiness  would  be  seriously  affected  if  this  mar 
riage  were  not  to  take  place  ?  Try  to  put  out  of  the  question 
that  you  are  engaged  to  him — that  all  is  ready  for  the  marriage, 
that  it  would  be  so  terrible  to  retreat  !  To  marry  under  the 
least  delusion  is  far  more  terrible.  Do  try,  my  darling,  to  search 
your  heart,  as  you  hope  for  happiness,  your  own  or  his.  Just 
think  of  that  noble,  generous  creature  waking  up  to  the  convic 
tion  that  you  had  never  truly  loved  him  for  himself — that  your 
true,  real  heart  is  not  his — that  you  have  been  dazzled  by  cir 
cumstances — deceived  by  your  own  love  of  all  that  is  beautiful, 
that  only  imagination  is  on  his  side — " 

"  Dear  Aunt  Susan,  how  can  you  talk  so  ?  What  has  put 
these  thoughts  into  your  head  ?  To  be  sure  I  love  Mr.  Ellis. 
You  know  how  good  he  is — how  kind — and  how  devotedly  he 
loves  me.  I  am  sure  you  don't  think  I  love  any  body  else  ?" 

"  No,  indeed — or  I  should  never  have  allowed  Mr.  Ellis  to 
suppose  you  free.  My  fears  have  no  reference  to  any  other  at 
tachment,  but  only  to  the  depth  and  fervor  of  this  one.  To 
speak  plainly — as  I  can  and  must  speak  to  you,  my  dearest — 
Mr.  Ellis  is  ten  years  older  than  yourself — his  character  is  grave 
and  thoughtful — his  tastes  are  sober — his  ideas  decided  and 
somewhat  strict.  He  is  excessively  in  love  with  you,  and — he 
is  rich.  You  know  as  well  as  I,  my  love,  that  it  was  your  beauty 
that  first  attracted  him  ;  but  your  many  excellent  qualities  have 
won  over  his  whole  heart,  and  a  strong  nature  like  his  loves 
once  and  always.  What  I  fear  is  that  you  may  be  unconsciously 
deceiving  yourself  and  him  into  a  belief  that  your  attachment  is 


THE    ISLAND    STORY.  99 

of  the  same  deep,  devoted,  exclusive  character  as  his,  while  you 
are  perhaps  more  influenced  than  you  suspect — not  more  than  is 
natural  in  a  young  girl  frugally  bred — by  the  prospect  of  a  de 
sirable  position  in  society,  and  a  life  of  elegance  and  indulgence. 
It  is  this  that  I  hope  and  pray  you  will  consider.  Do — dear 
love  !  Never  mind  consequences — I  will  take  all  that  is  possi 
ble  upon  myself  Do  not  mistake  gratitude,  pride,  gratified  van 
ity,  even  approbation  and  respect  for  one  of  the  best  of  men, 
for  love.  Dear  Kate — life  will  not  be  all  a  play-day — it  is  not, 
even  when  we  love  ever  so  truly.  Trials  must  come — trials  of 
patience,  of  temper,  of  fortitude,  of  truth.  It  will  not  be  suf 
ficient  that  your  husband  loves  you  ;  you  must  love  him,  too,  to 
make  these  things  tolerable." 

"  I  do,  indeed  !  dear,  dear,  good  Aunt  Susan,"  said  Kathe- 
rine,  throwing  her  arms  round  her  aunt's  neck — but  carefully, 
because  of  the  lace  on  her  sleeves  ;— "  I  do  love  him — better 
than  any  one  else  in  the  world — except  you — "  and  she  spoke 
sincerely  and  warmly,  for  Aunt  Susan's  allusion  to  Mr.  Ellis's 
excellences  had  brought  him  up  before  her  imagination  in  a  sort 
of  glory. 

"  But  you  must  love  him  more  than  you  love  me  !"  said  Aunt 
Susan,  with  a  sigh  which  was  not  expressive  of  very  full  satis 
faction.  "  Suppose  I  should  tell  you,  now,  that  Mr.  Ellis  had 
lost  his  fortune,  and  that  you  must  prepare  to  begin  your  mar 
ried  life  in  a  small  house  and  in  a  very  economical  way — :) 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dear  Aunt  Susan  ?"  exclaimed  Kathe- 
rine,  suddenly  pale  with  agitation. 

Here  was  a  sudden  and  loud  rapping  at  the  door. 

"  Mrs.  Ashmore  I     Kate  !" 


100  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

"Whatcfo  you  mean— tell  me  r  for  pity's  sake!"  reiterated 
the  bride,  never  heeding  the  appointed  summons. 

"  Only  to  ask  you  the  simple  question,  my  love — 

"But  there  is  really  no  such  thing?  tell  me — is  there  ?" 

"  Katherine  !  Mrs.  Ashmore  !  every  one  is  waiting  1"  whis 
pered  somebody  through  the  keyhole.  "  Mr.  Ellis  is  here — do 
come  1" 

Aunt  Susan  could  not  speak — she  could  hardly  bear  to  part 
with  her  Katherine  thus  ; — she  held  her  fast,  as  if  that  would 
do  any  good.  Her  maternal,  her  virtuous,  her  holy  instincts 
had  taken  the  alarm — or  rather  the  secret  fears  which  had  beset 
her  for  weeks,  had  just  then  come  to  a  crisis. 

"  There  is  no  such  thing,  is  there  ?"  said  Katherine,  with 
quivering  1'ps — 

"  No,  dear  !  no — "  said  poor  Aunt  Susan  ;  and  resigning  the 
object  of  her  care  with  a  secret  prayer — a  prayer  of  faith — she 
opened  the  door  to  the  bevy  of  bride-maidens,  and  a  manly 
face  that  promised  all  that  face  can  promise  of  truth,  honor,  and 
generous  love — 

Love — healer  of  all  ills — solver  of  all  doubts — sad  indeed  is 
the  bridal  where  thou  art  wanting  I  At  this  one,  of  Katherine 
Fountain  and  Henry  Ellis,  Love  presided,  indeed,  but  hardly 
with  equal  favor.  To  the  bridegroom  he  gave  all  his  enchant 
ments  ;  and  if  the  bride  seemed  less  endowed,  perhaps  it  was 
only  because  of  the  greatness  of  the  gifts  on  the  other  side.  We 
would  be  far  from  hinting  that  Katherine  felt  indifferent  to  the 
man  she  was  to  marry — one  whose  merits  commanded  affection 
as  well  as  respect  ;  but  only  that  for  want  of  greater  insight 
and  fuller  appreciation,  her  attachment  hardly  equalled  his  great 
deserts,  and  would  scarcely  have  satisfied  the  delicate  require- 


THE    ISLAND    STORY.  101 

ments  of  his  heart  if  he  could  have  seen  hers  fully  unveiled. 
Katherine  was  of  that  shy  and  rather  reserved  character  which 
leaves  a  great  deal  for  the  imagination,  and  the  imagination  of 
a  lover  asks  no  better  background  for  its  glowing  pictures. 
Young,  unformed,  but  of  dazzLng  beauty,  Katherine's  very  want 
of  cultivation  had  been  converted  into  a  charm  for  the  accom 
plished  man  of  society.  Disgusted  with  the  flippant  coldness  of 
pseudo-cultivation,  real  freshness  of  mind  was  of  delicious  prom 
ise  to  him,  and  the  idea— not  very  distinctly  developed — of  giv 
ing  this  ductile  mind  all  it  needed  to  bring  forth  its  latent  power, 
had  been  a  fascinating  one  to  him,  from  his  first  acquaintance  with 
Katherine.  On  her  part,  the  very  sense  of  Ellis's  superiority 
had  in  some  degree  scared  away  freedom  and  warmth  from  her 
affection  for  him.  Where  there  is  decided  mental  inequality, 
there  may  be  respect,  esteem,  gratitude,  pride,  willing  depend 
ence,  perfect  trust — but  there  can  hardly  be  love  in  its  highest 
form. 

But  we  have  kept  our  bridal  party  too  long  waiting  for  the 
bride.  The  veil,  adjusted  to  the  last  degree  of  grace  by  skilful 
hands,  gave  the  sole  charm  lacking  to  her  beauty,  and  with  one 
more  parting  kiss  to  Aunt  Susan,  she  passed  into  the  wavering 
cloud  of  bride-maidens,  not  without  a  trace  on  her  brow  of  the 
single  anxious  thought  called  up  by  the  recent  conversation. 


Mrs.  Marston's  opening  chapter  met  with  more  favor  than 
Mr.  Berry's  had  done.  The  young  ladies  were  delighted  with 
the  bride's  beauty  and  with  her  marrying  rich.  They  only 
thought  the  book  concluded  as  soon  as  begun.  "  What  more 


102  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

can  be  said  ?  After  a  young  lady  is  married,  her  history  cannot 
be  interesting  ;"  at  least  Miss  Grove  thought  novels  about 
married  people  were  always  stupid. 

Other  objections  there  were — such  as  Mrs.  Marston's  not  hav 
ing  indicated  distinctly  enough  the  direction  of  the  story,  but 
this  she  said  she  purposely  left  open  for  her  successors,  only  a 
general  agreement  having  been  come  to  as  to  its  tone.  The 
next  lot  fell  upon  Mrs.  Shelton,  who  consented  to  serve  only  on 
condition  that  she  should  be  allowed  to  seek  help  from  her  hus 
band.  This,  of  course,  was  readily  granted  by  the  high 
contracting  powers,  and  the  result  was  the  chapter  that  fol 
lows  : 


This  chapter  Mrs.  Shelton  chose  to  call 
PROGNOSTICS. 

Her  short  life 

As  tall  of  music  as  the  crowded  Juno 
Of  an  unfallen  orb. 

The  promise  to  the  fatherless  is  fulfilled  in  the  tenderness 
which  their  condition  awakens  in  the  hearts  of  the  good.  How 
often  they  seem  better  cared  for  than  the  children  of  the  living 
and  prosperous  1  What  a  sacredness  there  is  about  our 
thought  of  them — the  dead  seeming  all  the  while  to  fix  their 
searching,  unwavering,  undeceivable  eyes  upon  our  doings 
toward  them  1  Was  not  the  uncle  of  the  Babes  in  the  Wood 
the  only  cruel  guardian  uncle  that  ever  lived  I 

Not  such,  at  least,  were  Uncle  and  Aunt  Ashmore,  to  whose 
care  Katherlne  Fountain  and  her  baby-brother  were  left  when 


THE  ISLAND   STORY.  103 

their  mother  died,  and  their  father  became  something  worse 
than  dead.  The  busy  world  thought  the  good  couple  had 
children  enough  of  their  own,  and  that  their  means  were  none 
too  wide  for  their  needs.  But  with  hearts  that  could  hold  the 
world,  their  house  had  necessarily  an  elastic  virtue  too,  and 
both  found  plenty  of  room  for  the  two  poor,  little,  desolate 
pretty  creatures,  whose  unconsciously  appealing  looks  would 
have  unlocked  more  obstinate  doors.  The  boy  was  almost  an 
infant  in  arms  ;  Katherine  a  year  or  two  older.  Aunt  Susan 
had  two  of  nearly  their  age — a  circumstance  which  she  insisted 
made  it  all  the  more  convenient  to  attend  to  the  new-comers. 
So  the  little  ones  grew  up  together,  Uncle  Ashmore  never 
prospering  extravagantly,  but  satisfied  with  finding  himself  no 
worse  off  at  the  end  of  the  year  than  at  the  beginning.  Fru 
gality  and  liberality  went  hand  in  hand  in  the  establishment,  as 
they  ought  oftener  to  go. 

There  no  forced  efforts  for  delight  were  made, 

Joy  came  with  prudence  and  without  parado ; 

The  common  comfort  they  had  all  in  view, 

Light  were  their  troubles  and  their  wishes  few; 

Thrift  made  them  easy  for  the  coming  day, 

Eeligion  took  the  fear  of  Death  away ; 

A  cheerful  spirit  still  insured  content, 

And  Love  smiled  round  them  wheresoe'or  they  went. 

It  will  be  easily  perceived  that  this  was  no  splendid  lot. 
Where  there  are  great,  liberal  hearts  and  no  fortune,  modest 
wishes  and  industrious  and  economical  habits  must  watch  to 
keep  the  peace.  "Debt  is  a  far  worse  wolf  than  poverty,"  said 
Uncle  Ashmore  ;  and  his  family  were  taught  to  think  like  him, 
at  the  expense  of  many  a  pleasant  indulgence  that  their  neigh 
bors  boasted. 


104  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

"  Look  at  what  we  have,  and  not  at  what  we  haven't,"  was 
another  of  his  favorite  sentences — hard  precept,  but  benign. 
The  philosopher  who  could  say,  "How  many  things  are  here 
that  I  do  not  want  1"  has  few  disciples  in  any  age — perhaps 
fewer  in  ours  than  any.  Temptations  to  expense  are  the  most 
insidious  in  the  world  ;  taste  seems  to  sanctify  some  of  them, 
and  for  the  rest  we  appeal  to  nature  or  necessity.  In  this  par 
ticular,  the  two  young  Fountains  proved,  as  they  grew  up,  like 
eaglets  in  a  dove's  nest.  Good  and  amiable  as  they  were,  and 
loving  and  grateful, — they  showed  their  alien  blood  by  a  thou 
sand  aspirings — not  perversely  exhibited,  but  unconsciously  be 
trayed.  Katherine  was  a  beauty — that  seemed  to  account  for 
her  love  of  dress,  and  a  certain  wilfulness  that  sometimes 
grieved  Aunt  Susan.  George  was  handsome,  too,  and  popular 
at  school ;  good-humored,  but  self-indulgent.  The  Ashmore 
children  were  so  much  like  their  parents  in  gentle  goodness, 
that  they  looked  up  admiringly  to  the  dazzling  gifts  of  the 
orphans,  and  yielded  them  a  willing  homage  that  had  no  taint 
of  envy. 

Mrs.  Ashmore  was  quite  right  when  she  said  that  Katherine's 
beauty  first  attracted  Mr.  Ellis.  He  had  been  introduced  to  her 
in  the  country,  where  she  seemed  a  wood-nymph,  in  the  graceful 
simplicity  of  her  dress  and  manners.  Pure  and  happy,  gently 
excited  by  rural  sights  and  sounds  and  all  the  beaming  circle  of 
summer  pleasures,  and  lustrous  with  flitting  smiles  and  opal  fan 
cies,  Katherine's  fascinations  were  irresistible.  To  Ellis  she 
was  only  the  more  a  delicious  wonder  for  being  found  among 
plain,  unpretending  people.  He  was  any  thing  but  a  mere  man, 
of  the  world,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  that  term.  He  loved  the 
world  for  the  good  that  is  in  it,  but  he  was  much  better  fitted 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  105 

and  more  disposed  to  lead  than  to  follow  it.  His  taste,  highly 
cultivated  and  even  fastidious,  yet  seldom  interfered  with  his 
strict  interpretation  of  the  rule  of  duty  ;  and  even  Katherine's 
charms  would  have  had  little  effect  on  him,  beyond  the  passing 
moment,  if  he  had  not  felt  sure  that  the  source  of  all  this 
bewitching  outward  harmony  was  within.  The  sweetness  of 
her  temper  was  as  little  to  be  doubted  as  the  rosy  whiteness  of 
her  complexion  ;  her  face  was  as  full  of  quick  intelligence  as  of 
symmetry,  and  the  glorious  beauty  of  her  eyes  did  not  conceal 
the  gentle  kindness  that  shone  through  them.  Mr.  Ellis  felt 
that  he  had  never  seen  her  equal,  and  he  was  right ;  his  only 
error  was  in  supposing  her  more  developed  than  she  was. 
Aunt  Susan's  process, — the  result  of  tender  affection  and  heav 
enly  instinct — was  any  thing  but  a  forcing  one.  It  was  her 
nature  to  bear  as  much  of  every  one's  burdens  as  she  possibly 
could  ;  to  make  all  the  sacrifices,  and  take  all  the  blame  ;  and 
a  more  ingenious  creature  in  contriving  excuses  for  every  one's 
deficiencies  but  her  own  could  not  be  found.  This  is  the  des 
cription  of  no  great  disciplinarian,  and  the  effect  of  training  on 
this  plan  was  evident  through  the  household,  and  particularly 
shown  in  Katherine  and  her  brother,  who  would  have  borne  and 
well  repaid  a  stronger  system.  When  Aunt  Susan's  elder  chil 
dren  had  reached  the  utmost  to  which  direct  instruction  could 
bring  them,  their  cousins  were  yet  in  a  forming  state  ;  and 
although  their  ability  was  evident,  it  was  still  uncharacterized 
and  almost  unused. 

To  the  imagination  of  a  lover,  however,  it  is  not  wonderful 
that  Katherine  was  all-perfect. 

A  man  sometimes  finds  himself,  at  thirty,  romantic  for  the 
first  time — a  phenomenon  whose  cause  we  leave  to  the  explora- 


106  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

tions  of  the  omniscient  psychologists  of  our  day.  Mr.  Ellis 
fancied  himself  the  coolest  judge  in  the  world  ;  but  in  truth, 
from  the  time  that  he  became  fascinated  by  the  excessive  loveli 
ness  of  Katherine's  face  and  figure,  it  was  only  fancy.  The 
most  commonplace  of  lovers  could  not  have  been  further  from 
any  thing  that  deserved  the  name  of  judgment.  His  devotion 
filled  the  whole  field  of  vision  with  a  glory  that  seemed  to  him 
to  emanate  from  the  central  form  ;  and  to  the  idol  herself  the 
light  was  equally  magical.  "  While  I  was  happy  I  was  amia 
ble,"  says  Madame  De  Stael,  in  the  person  of  one  of  her  hero 
ines,  hinting  at  once  a  point  for  self-examination,  and  a  reason 
for  patience  towards  the  unamiable.  To  be  admired  and  loved 
is  an  incentive  to  worthiness,  in  a  generous  nature  ;  only  mean 
souls  grow  arrogant  by  spontaneous  homage.  The  love  of  such 
a  man  as  Henry  Ellis  naturally  made  Katherine  an  angel,  and 
so  justified  his  most  extravagant  thoughts.  That  she  should 
give  him  in  return  as  much  of  her  heart  as  she  was  as  yet  conscious 
of  possessing  was  inevitable,  and  it  was  with  entire  sincerity 
that  she  owned  a  preference  which  implied  all  he  wished.  The 
marriage  took  place  after  a  short  engagement,  for  there  seemed 
no  very  obvious  reason  for  a  long  one  ;  and  the  usual  round  of 
gay  bustle  followed  the  wedding-jaunt.  Katherine's  trousseau 
had  been  all  that  Uncle  Ashmore's  means  would  allow,  and  her 
husband's  gifts  left  nothing  to  wish  for.  The  world  presented  a 
new  side  to  the  young  wife.  What  an  easy,  charming  world  it 
was  1  No  more  longings  after  beautiful  things — no  more  talk 
about  economy — no  more  visions  of  what  might  be  !  Every 
thing  was, — in  actual  possession.  The  exercise  of  refined  taste 
seemed  a  sufficient  object  in  life,  and  harmony  of  wishes  in  that 
direction  ample  security  for  married  happiness. 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  iQf 

The  furnishing  of  a  handsome  house  in Square  gave  de 
lightful  occupation  for  some  weeks.  There  were  so  many 
charming  things  to  be  examined,  so  many  proportions  to  be 
consulted,  so  many  colors  and  blendings  considered,  that  each 
evening  found  Katherine  as  weary  as  if  she  had  bean  doomed  to 
wield  the  suicidal  needle,  to  win  a  pittance  that  might  defer 
starvation.  The  power  of  indulging  the  taste  for  the  first  time 
was  intoxicating,  and  who  can  marvel  ?  The  house  seemed  to 
grow  under  her  hands,  as  room  after  room  assumed  the  aspect 
and  complexion  of  her  choice.  Mr.  Ellis  seldom  interfered, 
though  his  travelled  taste  might  have  corrected  some  errors  in 
the  way  of  display,  and  certainly  would  have  preferred  that 
works  of  Art  should  have  been  more  prominent  than  the  mere 
upholstery  and  cabinet  ware  of  which  Katherine  was  but  too 
fond.  Indeed  it  would  have  been  wonderful  if  our  young  wife, 
untaught  in  Art  and  surrounded  in  her  native  city  by  examples 
of  the  most  vulgar  splendor,  had  been  able  wholly  to  avoid  the 
American  vice  of  unmeaning  gorgeousness,  without  plan  or 
principle  of  harmony.  To  have  persuaded  her  to  prefer  a  fine 
landscape  to  a  great  mirror,  would  have  been  impossible,  and 
Ellis  was  too  indulgent  to  insist  on  the  picture  without  the 
preference.  He  chose  to  wait  until  his  wife's  taste  demanded 
something  more  refined  than  the  glitter  she  saw  about  her. 
Even  in  matters  which  concerned  himself  personally,  he  yielded 
every  thing,  for  what  she  preferred  soon  seemed  to  him  best. 

A  month  or  two  went  by  in  returning  visits,  card-leaving,  and 
receiving  company.  Mr.  Ellis  bore  his  part  in  all  this  most  gal 
lantly,  though  it  required  no  extraordinary  amount  of  sagacity 
to  perceive  that  after  a  certain  time  it  began  to  weary  his  very 
soul.  Katherme,  to  whom  it  was  a  novelty,  and  who  had — or 


108  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

fancied   she   had — nothing   else  to  do,    went   on   with  heroic 
strength,  and  evidently  thought  it  was  to  be  always  so. 

It  would  be  curious  to  discover — if  we  could  discover— how 
large  a  part  of  young  girls'  notions  of  life  and  ideal  of  happi 
ness  and  propriety  is  derived  from  fashionable  novels.  The 
writers  of  those  repositories  of  wisdom  so  crowd  their  pages 
with  splendid  and  fascinating  images  of  the  pleasures  of  society  ; 
— make  people  so  easy  and  gracefnl,  so  witty  and  wise,  in 
drawing-rooms  and  boudoirs  ;  paint  dinners  all  elegance  and 
vivacity,  balls  all  admiration  and  success — that  the  inexperi 
enced  must  fancy  social  life  to  be  a  picture  of  light  and  p^as- 
ure,  knowing  no  weariness,  disgust,  or  disappointment.  It  takes 
no  great  experience  to  cure  the  delusion,  but  it  requires  a  cer 
tain  amount  ;  and  to  some  natures  the  waking  up  from  the 
dream  is  not  without  bitterness.  The  disappointment  that  waits 
upon  unfounded  expectations  is  not  the  least  severe  ;  and  it  is 
easy  to  seek  in  petulant  injustice  revenge  for  the  mistake 
None  are  more  disposed  to  undervalue  society  than  those  who 
once  overrated  its  attractions. 

But  our  bride  is  a  long  way  off  from  this  point  as  yet. 


"  Pray  give  me  credit  for  having  kept  carefully  within  the 
depths — or  shallows — of  my  own  experience,"  said  Egeria,  after 
she  had  listened,  with  some  tremors  and  blushes,  to  the  reading 
of  her  little  effort.  "  I  never  knew,  before,  that  I  could  write 
any  thing  but  a  letter  or  a  school  exercise  ;  and  indeed,  with 
out  Mr.  Shelton's  suggestions  I  should  not  have  dared  attempt 
any  delineation  of  character.  Yet  I  found  a  little  reflection 


THE  ISLAND   STORY.  109 

bring  me  quite  vividly  what  would  be  the  probable  result  of  the 
training  of  Aunt  Susan — " 

The  chapter  was  graciously  accepted,  and  Miss  Berry  chosen 
by  the  lot  as  the  next  adventurer. 

"  /  shall  moralize,  of  course,"  she  said,  laughing  ;  "you  know 
me,  of  old." 

But  all  said  moralizing  was  sometimes  in  place,  and,  in  treat 
ing  of  the  significance  of  Beauty,  could  hardly  be  omitted. 


"  We  must  have  a  Christmas  dinner  !  a  family  dinner,"  said 
Mrs.  Ellis  to  her  husband,  in  council,  after  wedding  visits  had 
somewhat  slackened.  "  We  will  have  Aunt  Susan  and  Uncle 
Ashmore,  and  all  the  children  and  George,  and  your  sister  and 
Mr.  Enfield  and  Mary,  and  your  Uncle  Deane — " 

"  You  musn't  set  your  heart  upon  all  that,  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Ellis,  "for  I  dare  say  your  Uncle  and  Aunt  will  think  we  ought 
to  dine  with  them.  The  elder  members  of  the  family  generally 
claim  the  Christmas  dinner." 

"  0  but  I  can  easily  persuade  them  !  They  will  come  here,  I 
know,  if  I  wish  it." 

Mr.  Ellis  felt  as  if  it  would  be  more  kind  and  delicate  not  to 
persuade  them,  but  he  did  not  say  so  He  would  hardly  coun 
tenance  himself  in  thinking  so,  since  Katherine  was  concerned 
So  the  Christmas  party  was  invited. 

The  Enfields  were  of  that  class  wonderfully  numerous  among 
us — a  class  peculiar  to  our  country — who  live  at  board  because 
their  means  will  not  allow  of  their  being  surrounded  with  pri- 


HO  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

vate  splendor  of  their  own  ;  of  course  they  had  no  objection  to 
dining  out  on  Christmas  day. 

But  Aunt  Susan  and  her  husband  were,  as  we  have  said, 
people  whose  rich  natures  had  resisted  the  world's  petrifying 
influences,  and  retained,  in  spite  of  the  attrition  of  city  life,  the 
freshness  and  simplicity  which  only  good  and  warm  hearts  have 
any  right  to.  To  them,  accustomed  as  they  had  long  been  to 
see  their  own  board  crowned  wifh  good  cheer,  and  surrounded 
by  happy  and  beloved  faces  on  Christmas  day,  the  idea  of  dining 
any  where  but  at  home  was  sadly  against  the  grain,  so  that 
they,  for  once,  resisted  Katherine  pretty  sturdily.  But  Kathe- 
rine  was  in  no  humor  to  be  resisted.  There  was  a  Champagne 
flush  about  her  life,  now,  that  gave  a  heightened  and  illusive 
color  to  whatever  she  desired,  and  urged  her  towards  its  attain 
ment  with  an  impetuosity  unsuspected  during  her  soft,  embryo 
days.  It  is  a  rare  mental  soil  in  which  egotism  does  not  grow 
rapidly  under  the  tropical  sun  of  sudden  prosperity  ;  and  the 
more  imaginative  the  quality,  the  more  luxuriant  and  overshad 
owing  the  product.  Experience  of  power  made  Katherine  feel 
(not  think)  herself  omnipotent  in  her  sphere,  and  she  never 
doubted  but  she  could  make  Uncle  and  Aunt  Ashmore,  whom 
she  loved  so  dearly,  happy  in  her  way  instead  of  their  own.  So 
she  prevailed,  and  they  exchanged  their  comfortable  dining- 
room,  with  sprigs  of  box  stuck  in  the  window-panes,  branches  of 
hemlock  and  wreaths  of  green  forest  fringe  about  the  pictures, 
and  a  bright,  hospitable  Christmas  fire  burning  in  the  grate,  for 
their  niece's  too  magnificent  suite,  curtained  with  satin  and  lace 
till  one  could  not  distinguish  the  snow  falling  thick  through  the 
air  without,  and  warmed  by  a  furnace  in  the  cellar  till  you  felt 
uncertain  whether  a  fan  or  a  fire  were  most  desirable. 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  HI 

"  Had  not  we  better  have  a  little  fire,  Katherine  ?"  said  Mr. 
Ellis  ;  "  Aunt  Susan  will  miss  her  cheerful  corner-seat,  I  am 
afraid." 

"  Fire  !  oh  dear,  no — I  am  sure  it  is  very  warm  here  !"  And 
she  appealed  to  the  thermometer,  which  tyrannizes  over  one's 
natural  and  unanswerable  sensations  in  so  many  houses. 

Her  mind's  eye,  if  not  her  bodily  one,  was  fixed  on  the  pol 
ished  grates,  which,  though  they  had  been  left  open  at  Mr.  El- 
lis's  suggestion,  for  the  very  purpose  now  in  question,  she  could 
not  bear  to  see  defaced.  So  she  did  not  consent,  and  the  Ash- 
mores  arrived,  opportunely  for  her,  before  there  was  time  for 
further  debate. 

There  was  a  hearty  as  well  as  graceful  welcome  for  these  hon 
ored  guests,  for  whom  Mr.  Ellis  had  already  learned  to  feel  the 
affection  and  reverence  of  a  son.  Katherine's  delight  was  un 
bounded,  and  animation  and  pleasure  so  heightened  her  beauty, 
that  her  indulgent  relatives  looked  at  her  with  new  pride,  and  a 
hew  sense  of  her  right  to  power.  George  Fountain,  as  he  kissed 
his  sister,  brought  out  his  own  opinion,  brother-like — 

"  Why,  Kate,  you  grow  handsomer  every  day  1" 

Katherine  met  her  husband's  eye,  and  blushed,  not  very  pain 
fully. 

"  Do  you  find  it  warm  enough  here,  Auntie  ?"  said  she,  as 
Aunt  Susan  took  her  seat  on  one  of  the  half-dozen  sofcis.  (A 
great  defect  of  fashionable  drawing-rooms  is  that  they  have  no 
natural  social  centre.  They  seem  made  for  undistinguished 
crowds,  with  no  common  interest  or  impulse.) 

"  0  dear,  yes — very  warm  !"  said  Aunt  Susan,  whose  rosy 
face  wore  a  deeper  hue  than  usual.  She  took  a  fan  from  her 
pocket,  and  Katherine  looked  at  Mr.  Ellis  as  much  as  to  say, 


112  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

"You  see  I  was  right."  He  did  not  remind  her  that  the  cheer 
ful  fire  he  had  recommended  need  not  have  increased  the  heat. 

"  Mr.  Enfield,  Mrs.  Enfield  and  Miss  Enfield,"  said  the  ser 
vant,  opening  the  door,  and  the  party  thus  announced  by  their 
own  order,  came  splendidly  into  the  room,  as  if  for  a  visit  of 
ceremony. 

Mrs.  Enfield  was  a  stately  lady,  Mr.  Enfield  a  nidging,  insig 
nificant  little  gentleman,  with  his  hair  brushed  wildly  upwards 
to  increase  his  apparent  height ;  Miss  Eufield,  a  little,  pale-faced 
girl,  with  the  very  lightest  hair,  and  large  red  lips  rather  scorn 
ful  in  expression.  Her  hands  and  arms  were  of  a  papery  white 
ness,  and  so  fleshless  that  her  numerous  bracelets  and  rings 
seemed  in  constant  danger  of  falling  off.  This  delicacy  her 
mamma  prized  very  highly,  while  to  indifferent  eyes  it  seemed  a 
presage  either  of  early  decay  or  a  sort  of  half-life  for  a  longer 
period. 

Mr.  Deane  came  next,  a  pale,  serious  elderly  man  in  black, 
with  hardly  the  face  or  spirits  for  a  Christmas  party  ;  but  Kath- 
erine's  gracious  manners  and  kind  attentions  soon  won  him  to 
some  degree  of  cheerfulness.  He  was  a  widower,  and  had,  not 
long  before,  lost  an  only  son — his  sole  remaining  child.  He 
seemed  bent  on  watching  George  Fountain,  who,  full  of  life  and 
health,  must  have  formed  a  striking  memento  of  his  loss.  We 
love  to  try  every  new  sword  in  the  old  wound. 

"  Bless  me  1  how  hot  you've  got  it  here,  Ellis  I"  said  Mr.  En- 
field  as  soon  as  he  had  made  his  bow.  "  You  will  have  to  serve 
us  all  up  with  the  baked  meats  1" 

"Is  there  a  fan,  Mrs.  Ellis?"  said  Mrs.  Enfield,  who,  quite 
aware  that  her  husband's  danger  was  that  of  insignificance,  al 
ways  endeavored  to  .give  dignity  to  his  whims  by  assenting  to 


THE   ISLAND   STORY.  H3 

them.  The  fan  being  brought,  Mrs.  Enfield  condescended  to 
turn  her  attention  to  Aunt  Susan. 

"  Shocking  weather,  Mrs.  Ashmore  !  Dreadful  driving  to 
day  !" 

"We  walked,"  said  Aunt  Susan. 

"  Oh  !  did  you,  indeed  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Ashmore,  my  wife  calls  her  India-rubbers 
her  iron-grays  ;  they  carry  her  every  where,  and  she  is  a  coward 
about  riding." 

Uncle  and  Aunt  Ashmore  were  so  old-fashioned  that  they  still 
dared  to  say  "  riding,"  although  the  English  say  "  driving." 
They  adhered  to  the  old  Bible  English. 

"For  my  part,"  said  Mr.  Enfield,  inspecting  his  patent  leath 
ers,  "  I  found  it  quite  enough  to  walk  from  the  carriage  to  the 
door." 

"  Yes — I  was  nearly  blown  away,"  said  his  wife.  "  It  was 
horribly  disagreeable." 

"  All  for  want  of  habit,"  said  Mr.  Ashmore.  "  The  doctors 
would  not  have  so  many  cases  of  dyspepsia  if  every  body  walked. 
1  Have  a  carriage/  says  Emerson,  '  and  you  lose  your  legs.' " 

"  0,  very  likely,"  murmured  Mr.  Enfield,  evidently  quite  con 
tent  to  take  the  carriage  without  the  legs. 

The  children  now  came  bouncing  in.  Their  happy  faces  and 
joyous  tones  did  something  towards  overcoming  the  ice  of  the 
Enfields.  The  elder  found  amusement  on  the  sofa-table  ;  little 
Willie  went  into  raptures  at  the  Maltese  cat  that  lay  dosing  on 
a  cushion  ;  while  Susan,  the  image  of  her  good  mother,  soon 
planted  herself  in  the  window,  to  observe  the  storm  and  watch 
the  poor  children,  who  were  piteously  endeavoring  to  find  bits  of 
8 


114  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

wood  or  coal  wherever  the  wind  had  blown  the  snow  from  patches 
in  the  vacant  lot  at  the  corner. 

"  Oh,  see  !  the  wind  has  carried  off  that  little  girl's  cloak  that 
she  was  holding  on  with  one  hand  while  she  picked  up  a  long 
piece  of  hoop  ;  and  now  she  is  running  after  it  through  the  deep 
drift !  See  her  poor  red  feet !  She  has  caught  her  cloak,  now, 
but  there's  a  naughty  boy  has  run  off  with  her  piece  of  hoop." 

Mr.  Ellis  went  to  the  window.  "What's  all  this  about  cloaks 
and  hoops,  Susie  ?"  said  he. 

"  Oh — there  they  go — they  have  gone  round  the  corner — I 
believe  the  wind  blew  them  round.  But  there's  a  lady — with 
her  umbrella  loaded  with  wet  snow  !  She's  coming  here,  I  de 
clare  !  0 — her  umbrella  is  turned  wrong  side  out,  and  her  bon 
net  is  almost  off  1" 

"It  is  Mrs.  Dibble,"  said  Mr.  Ellis,  "out  on  one  of  her  ex 
peditions  of  mercy,  I  have  no  doubt." 

A  ring  was  heard,  and  at  the  same  moment  a  servant  an 
nounced  dinner. 

"  Say  we  are  at  dinner,  John,"  said  Mrs.  Ellis. 

"  Katherine,  dear — don't  send  away  Mrs.  Dibble — and  in  such 
a  storm,  too  1  Ask  the  lady  in,  John." 

"Dibble  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Eufield,  sotto  voce,  "what  a  vulgar 
name — " 

"  And  what  a  vulgar  woman  !"  said  his  wife,  a  little  louder,  as 
Mrs.  Dibble  entered  the  room  breathless  from  the  storm,  her 
hair  blown  about  her  face  and  her  cheeks  all  wet  and  red. 
Katherine  had  looked  vexed,  but  her  husband  found  time  to 
whisper,  "It  will  be  but  for  a  moment — Mrs.  Dibble  never 
wastes  her  own  time  or  any  body's  else." 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  visitor,  as  soon  as  she  had  recovered 


THE   ISLAND    STORY.  115 

herself  a  little  ;  "  I  should  hardly  have  dared  to  enter  any  other 

nouse  in Square  in  this  way,  and  on  Christmas  day,  too — 

but  I  felt  sure  of  you." 

She  looked  rather  at  Mr.  than  Mrs.  Ellis  as  she  said  this,  not 
purposely,  but  by  instinct. 

"  You  will  come  in  to  dinner  with  us,"  said  Katherine,  kind 
ly  ;  "  our  dinner  is  just  on  the  table." 

"  Oh,  thank  you — no,"  said  Mrs.  Dibble,  and  she  arose  at  once. 
"  What  I  wished  to  say  was,  that  there  is  a  family  absolutely 
starving,  within  a  few  rods  of  your  house,  and  I  came  to  beg 
something  warm  for  them  to  eat,  immediately." 
"  Starving  !"  was  exclaimed  on  all  sides 
"  Yes,  indeed  ! — without  a  morsel  for  nearly  two  days — a 
mother  and  three  little  children,  faint  with  hunger,  and  shut  up 
to  die,  for  the  poor  soul  had  come  to  the  awful  resolution  not  to 
try  any  longer." 

A  thrill  of  horror  ran  through  the  group  ;  Katherine's  cheek 
blanched,  and  tears  came  to  her  eyes. 

"  We  will  send  something  instantly,"  she  said  ;  "  let  us  go  to 
the  dining-room." 

It  was  easy  to  select  from  the  abundance  of  delicacies  there, 
and  Mrs  Dibble's  experience  enabled  her  to  choose  with  judg 
ment. 

"I  will  go  !"  said  George  Fountain.  "Let  me  go — I  would 
rather  carry  the  basket  than  not "  And  he  was  off  in  a  mo 
ment,  Mrs-  Dibble  following  as  fast  as  she  could. 

"  You  will  at  least  come  back  and  dine  with  us  ?"  said  Kath 
erine. 

"  No — not  to-day — many  thanks.  I  hope  I  have  not  spoiled 
your  Christmas  dinner." 


116  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

But,  to  the  honor  of  our  human  nature,  be  it  said,  such  oc 
currences  will  throw  a  damp  over  plenty  and  magnificence.  The 
contrast  is  too  horrible  ;  and  though  it  always  exists,  and  we 
know  it,  yet  we  cannot  face  its  actual  presence.  Katherine  was 
full  of  contending  emotions.  There  was  certainly  something  a 
little  trying  to  a  young  housekeeper  in  the  interruption.  A 
dinner  is  not  perfect  if  it  waits  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  after  it 
should  be  eaten,  and  this  was  Katherine's  first  large  dinner 

But  then  the  opposite  thought  that  there  are  thousands  who 
have  no  dinner  1 

"  Yery  odd  woman — that  Mrs.  Dibble  I"  said  Mrs.  Enfield. 
"  She  is  always  engaged  about  other  people's  business." 

"  I  fancy  her  husband  would  rather  she  should  attend  to  her 
own,"  said  Mr.  Enfield. 

"These  very  benevolent  people,"  said  the  lady,  with  a  little 
toss  of  the  head,  "  are  generally  indifferent  to  the  comfort  of 
those  immediately  dependent  upon  them.  Home  duties  are  not 
showy  enough  for  them." 

Mrs.  Ashmore  and  Katherine  both  looked  ready  to  exclaim 
at  this  sweeping  judgment,  but  Mr.  Ellis  said,  quietly — 

"  I  believe  Mr.  Dibble  is  very  much  of  his  wife's  mind,  and 
feels  willing  she  should  give  up  a  good  deal  of  her  time  to  the 
care  of  the  poor." 

"  Poor  devil  1"  said  Mr.  Enfield.  "  I  dare  say  he  tries  to 
make  the  best  of  it ;  but  I  pity  him,  or  any  other  man  that  has 
a  benevolent  wife  1" 

This  was  said  with  great  self-complacency,  and  Mrs.  Enfield 
evidently  felt  as  if  she  had  received  a  compliment. 

"  I  must  confess,"  said  Mr.  Ashmore,  "  that  I  should  not  like 


THE  ISLAND   STORY.  117 

my  wife  to  neglect  home  affairs  for  the  sake  of  looking  after  the 
poor." 

"But  isn't  it  possible,"  said  Mr.  Ellis,  "to  attend  to  the 
poor,  and  to  home  affairs  too  ?  I  suppose  I  must  not  quote 
Aunt  Susan  herself  as  an  instance,  here  " — with  a  smile  full  of 
meaning  at  her — "  but  I  know  another  lady  who  is  a  wonder  in 
that  way." 

"  I  find  it  quite  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  attend  to  my  own 
duties  !"  said  Mrs.  Enfield,  sharply.  She  was  evidently  rather 
excited  by  her  brother's  remarks,  for  the  marabouts  and  golden 
fringes  of  her  head-dress  quivered  as  she  spoke.  "Nobody  need 
be  poor,  in  this  country,"  she  continued,  "if  it  were  not  for 
dissipation  and  improvidence  ;  and  to  be  always  giving  is  only 
an  encouragement  to  vice.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  who  would 
give  me  money,  if  I  wanted  it  !  Do  you,  Mr.  Ashmore  ?" 

"  What  we  give  sanctifies  what  is  left,"  said  Mr.  Ashmore, 
who  had  no  idea  of  being  understood  to  take  sides  against  char 
itable  effort.  "  But  I  meant  that  I  thought  it  would  be  hard 
for  me  to  make  the  sacrifice  Mr.  Ellis  was  speaking  of." 

"  I  think  the  kind  of  charity  practised  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dib 
ble  a  very  difficult  one,"  said  Mr.  Ellis  ;  "  willingness  to  aid  the 
poor  by  personal  services  bespeaks  a  deeper  sense  of  duty — a 
more  self-denying  virtue — than  the  largest  disposition  to  give, 
which  is  often  a  mere  impulse.  Yinet  speaks  of  a  clergyman 
who,  after  quietly  listening  to  whatever  of  rude  repulse  the 
coarsest  nature  could  prevail  upon  itself  to  offer  in  reply  to  his 
plea  for  the  wretched,  would  say,  with  unruffled  brow  and 
unshrinking  perseverance — '  Et  mes  pattvres  T  I  should  consi 
der  that  man's  claim  to  sainthood  well  established." 

"  I  have  tried  it,  myself,"  said  Mr.  Ashmore,  "  and  I  know 


118  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

the  mean  feeling  that  comes  over  one  is  so  humiliating,  and  the 
cold,  stingy  looks  of  those  we  apply  to  so  provoking,  that  it 
would  be  far  easier  to  give  the  whole  sum  required,  out  of  one's 
own  pocket,  if  that  were  possible." 

"And  yet,"  said  Mr.  Deane,  "who  denies  that  we  ought  to 
be  obliged  to  those  who  save  us  the  time  and  trouble  of  search 
ing  out  misfortune  ?  Like  Spenser's  Angels — 

They  their  silver  bowers  leave, 
To  come  to  succor  them  that  succor  want— 
And  all  for  love  and  nothing  for  reward  1" 

"Angels  1"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Enfield,  who  soon  wearied  of  any 
subject  not  spiced  with  personality,  "  I  think  Mrs.  Dibble  is 
very  little  like  an  angel  !  She  has  nothing  attractive  about 
her.  She  is  always  full  of  some  idea  of  her  own,  and  cannot 
talk  as  other  people  do.  Then  how  she  looks  !  Her  bonnet  is 
a  perfect  sight,  and  she  wears  a  cloak  that  makes  her  look  like 
one  of  her  own  proteges.  The  servants  are  afraid  to  let  her 
in!" 

"  I  should  really  think,"  said  Katherine,  who  coveted  beauty 
in  every  thing,  "  that  it  was  not  necessary  for  her  to  dress  quite 
so  shabbily." 

"I  can  tell  you,  dear,  why  she  does  so,"  said  Aunt  Susan. 
"  She  appropriates  only  a  certain  sum  yearly  to  her  private  ex 
penses,  and  out  of  that,  proportioned  as  it  is  to  her  husband's 
means,  must  come  her  personal  charities.  So  she  hardly  allows 
herself  what  is  becoming.  I  dare  say  she  would  be  so'rry  to 
know  she  looked  so  shabby  to  others." 

"  How  silly  !"  said  Mrs.  Enfield,  half  aside. 

"  I  mean  to  have  a  talk  with  her  about  it  one  of  these  days," 


THE   ISLAND   STORY.  119 

continued  Aunt  Susan.  "  It  isn't  any  body's  duty  to  look 
ugly." 

"  Labor  lost !"  said  Mrs.  Enfield,  whose  temper  seemed  irri 
tated  by  the  justifying  and  respectful  tone  of  Mrs.  Dibble's 
defenders.  "  Your  true  charitable  phenomenon  is  always  proud 
as  Lucifer  and  self-righteous  as  a  pillar-saint — I  detest  the 
whole  tribe." 

Discussions  of  this  kind  have  a  wonderfully  disturbing  power 
on  some  people.  There  is  a  pertinacious  inner  voice,  not  subject 
to  the  rules  of  good  society,  which  takes  the  side  of  truth  and 
goodness,  coming  vexatiously  in  aid  of  the  argument  or  defence 
from  without.  Conscience  tells  us — 

If  every  just  man,  that  now  pines  with  want, 
Had  but  a  moderate  and  beseeming  share 
Of  that  which  lewdly-pampered  Luxury 
Now  heaps  upon  some  few  with  vast  excess, 
Nature's  full  blessings  would  be  well-djspensed 
In  unsupertiuous,  even  proportion, 
And  she  no  whit  encumbered  with  her  store ; 
And  then  the  Giver  would  be  better  thanked, 
His  praise  due  paid. 

When  George  Fountain  returned,  he  gave  the  most  heart 
rending  account  of  the  poor  fam'ly,  intermixing  his  pity  with 
strong  commendation  of  Mrs.  Dibble. 

Mr.  Enfield  pushed  away  his  plate,  and  moved  petulantly 
several  things  which  stood  near  it  ;  and  when  Katherine  kindly 
offered  him  various  delicacies,  declined  them,  shortly  enough. 
Mrs.  Enfield  immediately  put  on  the  air  of  an  injured  person. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ashmore  had  not  savoir  fnire  enough  to  look  as 
if  nothing  had  happened,  though  they  tried  with  all  their  simple 
might.  The  children,  who  had  been  able  to  keep  up  their  own 


120  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

private  fun  for  a  while,  at  length  began  to  be  sensible  of  the 
presence  of  a  hostile  element,  and  they  fell  into  a  staring  silence. 

Mr.  Deane  alone  seemed  to  forget  all  in  his  admiring  sympa 
thy  with  George's  humane  enthusiasm.  He  sat  down  by  him 
and  drew  him  into  conversation,  which,  however,  did  not 
become  general. 

The  games  in  the  drawing-room  did  something,  and  the  tea 
and  coffee  something  more.  Mrs.  Enfield  consented  to  play  and 
sing,  and  though  see  would  attempt  nothing  but  grand  Italian 
cavatinas,  and  Uncle  Ashmore's  old-fashioned  ears  did  not  quite 
relish  the  foreign  tone,  yet  really  good  music  will  speak  for  itself, 
and  he  was  delighted  before  he  knew  it,  and  so  were  all.  Even 
Mr.  Enfield  could  not  resist  the  general  pleasure,  the  less  as  it 
was  due  to  his  wife  ;  so  music  proved,  in  this  case,  what  it  should 
always  in  this  jarring  world  of  ours, — a  compelling  spirit  of 
health.  The  evening  closed  gaily,  and  Mrs.  Ellis's  first  dinner 
party  would  pass  for  a  success,  according  to  all  the  rules. 

But  when  all  had  departed,  and  Katherine,  alone  with  her 
husband,  was  talking  over  the  matter,  she  confessed  that  her 
Christmas  party  had  to  her  been  a  failure. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  was  the  reason,"  she  said  ;  "  but  cer 
tainly  Aunt  Susan  and  Uncle  Ashmore  were  not  in  their  usual 
spirits.  The  children,  even,  were  dull ;  and  then  that  malapro 
pos  visit  of  Mrs.  Dibble —  She  stopped,  for  her  heart  reproach 
ed  her. 

Mr.  Ellis  was  too  generous  to  bring  forward  all  the  reasons 
he  could  have  suggested  for  the  failure  of  the  Chrstmas  party. 

"  My  sister  and  her  husband,"  he  said,  are  inharmonious  peo 
ple.  They  are  spoiled  by  prosperity  and  indolence,  and  their 
native  good  qualities  are  buried  under  a  load  of  pride  and  ex- 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  121 

clusiveness.  They  seem  laboring  to  satisfy  themselves  with  the 
externals  of  life,  and  the  rebellious  longings  of  their  hearts  for 
something  better  give  them  a  discontented  air.  Then  Mr.  Deane 
is  too  profoundly  sad  to  be  fully  sympathetic  with  any  gayety. 
He  seems  interested  in  George,  but  in  nothing  and  nobody  else." 

Katherine  sat  for  some  time  in  silence.  Mrs.  Dibble  and  her 
errand  passed  in  review,  and  it  is  toi  be  feared,  although  perhaps 
the  young  wife  would  hardly  have  owned  it  to  herself,  that  she 
secretly  referred  the  clouding  over  of  the  party  to  the  unlucky 
preference  given  by  that  lady  to  her  house  over  any  other 
in  the  square.  There  was  something  officious  about  it — some 
thing  that  violated  the  bienseances, — that  obtruded  uncomforta 
ble  images  in  the  midst  of  luxury  and  happiness.  In  these  days 
the  death's  head  is  banished  from  the  feast.  "  There  must  be 
poor  people — there  always  have  been  and  there  always  will  be. 
We  are  surrounded  with  them  ;  it  is  in  vain  to  make  ourselves 
uncomfortable  about  any  particular  instance.  People  like  Mrs. 
Dibble,  who  go  about  ferreting  them  out,  are  always  very  disa 
greeable.  They  forget  every  thing  else  ;  take  no  interest  in  so 
ciety." 

Did  Mrs.  Ellis  say  these  words  to  her  husband  ?     Xo  indeed — 

To  speak  them  were  a  deadly  sin  I 

And  for  having  but  thought  them,  her  heart  within 

A  treble  penance  must  be  done. 

She  reproached  herself,  all  the  while  ;  but  the  brightness  of  her 
new  lot  had  already  begun  to  affect  her  general  estimate  of 
things.  All  recollection  of  unhappiuess  or  want  was  distasteful. 
An  existence  beautified  by  love,  wealth,  station,  Art,  refinement, 
was  her  ideal  of  happiness.  Such  a  picture  her  Lfe  now  pre- 


122  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

seiited  in  prospect ;  and  the  view  excluded,  for  the  moment,  all 
sorrow,  whether  her  own  or  others.  She  found  no  place  in  her 
landscape  for  a  'brown  tree/  unconscious  that  the  glare  was 
even  now  injuring  her  moral  sight. 


"Ah  !  Aunt  Annie,"  said  Miss  Aldis,  "  now  we  know  you 
must  have  written  a  book  I" 

"Why,  pray?" 

"  Because  you  have  written  such  a  long  chapter,  and  in  such 
a  little  while  1" 

"  We  shall  see  what  your  chapter  will  be,"  said  some  of  the 
rest,  laughing. 

"  Mine  !  oh,  I  wouldn't  write  one  for  the  world  !  The  lot 
had  better  not  fall  on  me,  for  I  should  have  to  refuse." 

But  the  perverse  fates  called  her,  the  very  next  time,  and  she 
could  be  saved  from  a  fit  of  crying  only  by  her  uncle's  promising 
to  serve  in  her  stead.  Mr.  Berry  said  he  began  quite  to  long 
to  try  his  hand  again,  now  that  the  lines  had  been  marked  out 
a  little.  Of  course  nobody  objected,  but  it  may  be  imagined 
how  all  laughed  when  the  old  bachelor  announced  the  chapter  as 

HOUSEKEEPING. 

"  Look  at  the  woman  here,  with  the  new  soul 
Like  my  own  Psyche's ;  fresh  upon  her  lips 
Alit,  the  visionary  butterfly, 
"Waiting  my  word  to  enter  and  make  bright, 
Or  flutter  off,  and  leave  all  blank  as  first  , 

"  Had  I  green  jars  of  malachite,  this  way 
I'd  range  them— where  those  sea-shells  glisten  above 
Cresset*  should  hang,  by  right :  this  way  we'd  set 
TLe  purple  carpets,  as  these  mats  are  laid" 


THE   ISLAND   STORY.  123 

Happily  the  gayeties  which  follow  a  wedding  do  not  last  al 
ways.  There  is  a  time  to  be  sober,  too,  and  this  Mr.  Ellis  was 
prepared  fully  to  enjoy.  Katherine  thought  she  had  been  long 
ing  for  it,  but  the  fascinations  of  her  new  life  were  potent,  and 
her  estimate  of  sobriety  was  not  always  that  of  her  husband. 

If  contrast  be  au  element  of  harmony  in  married  life,  no 
couple  could  be  better  mated.  The  character  of  Ellis  was  one 
of  remarkable  solidity  ;  his  opinions  had  foundations  ;  he  was 
thorough  in  every  thing.  Born  to  fortune,  his  tastes  had  been 
cultivated  at  home  and  refined  by  foreign  travel  ;  his  associates 
were  select,  his  intimacies  few.  How  a  man  of  his  stamp  hap 
pened  to  be  captivated  with  Katherine  Fountain — a  girl  whose 
education  had  been  imperfect,  whose  few  accomplishments  were 
of  a  middling  order,  whose  natural  powers  were  in  a  manner  stag 
nant  for  want  of  healthful  stimulus  and  a  guiding  spirit — we 
have  already  seen.  Mr.  Ellis's  admiration  of  beauty,  and  his 
firm  belief  in  its  significance,  had  led  him  to  overlook  all  that 
might  to  a  cooler  eye  have  been  evident  deficiency,  in  so  exqnisite 
a  creature,  the  extreme  worth  of  those  who  had  trained  her  being 
a  sort  of  security  that  in  the  deeper  accomplishments  of  the 
heart  she  could  not  be  wanting.  A  young  woman  brought  up 
under  Aunt  Susan's  influence  must  have  in  her  the  genius  of 
good  wifehood  ;  Katherine  was  sincere  and  not  without  serious 
ness  ;  she  was  young,  and  there  was  time  for  every  thing.  If 
she  cared  rather  disproportionately  for  things  essentially  frivo 
lous,  that  was  natural  at  her  age.  It  would  be  her  husband's 
delightful  task  to  regulate  and  inform  her  taste,  giving  to  every 
object  its  due  place,  and  gradually  replacing  the  lower  by  the 
higher.  If  she  evinced  an  undue  pertinacity  at  times,  it  was 
the  innate  strength  of  her  character,  her  high  sense  of  duty,  and 


124  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

her  adherence  to  what  seemed  to  her  right.  It  needed  only  to 
apply  and  confine  this  rigidity  of  will  to  subjects  of  importance, 
to  make  it  a  most  valuable  quality,  in  a  world  half  of  whose 
sins  are  sins  of  vacillation  and  want  of  courage. 

So  reasoned  our  sage  lover  ;  and  we  can  hardly  wonder  that 
he  thought  beauty  like  his  wife's  must  bespeak  every  virtue. 

Her  form  had  an  undulating  grace  which  not  all  the  artifices 
and  constraints  of  fashion  could  have  spoiled,  and  her  movements, 
unstudied  and  devoid  of  the  tricks  which  caprice  invents  for  the 
distinction  of  soi-disant  exclusives,  were  strikingly  simple — a 
beauty  not  enough  prized  in  our  young  women,  and  which,  when 
not,  as  in  this  case,  a  natural  gift,  is  the  fruit  of  only  the  best 
training.  With  this  expressive  elegance  of  form  and  motion, 
accorded  a  face  in  which  color  e.nd  outline  harmonized  so  sweet 
ly  that  the  eye  was  at  a  loss  to  analyze  the  charm.  It  was  like 
a  cluster  of  dewy  blossoms  when  the  morning  sun  first  shines 
upon  it,  fusing  its  loveliness  in  light.  No  strong  trait  of  char 
acter  had  as  yet  written  itself  legibly  on  this  delicate  surface  ; 
it  was  only  a  tablet  of  excellent  possibilities.  The  complexion 
was  lily-fair,  and  the  cheek  tinged  only  with  a  flitting  rose,  as 
emotion  quickened  the  eloquent  blood.  In  expression,  Kathe- 
rine's  face  leaned  a  little  to  the  sad  ;  for  delicate  beauty  is  never 
wholly  gay  ;  and  this  sweet  sadness  promises  the  sympathy  and 
tenderness  whose  lack  even  beauty  fails  to  supply 

The  training  of  such  a  creature  seems  to  the  imagination  no 
heavy  task,  yet  Henry  Ellis  discovered,  before  he  had  far  passed 
the  threshold  of  married  life,  that  to  play  the  guiding  spirit  in 
the  transition  from  girl  to  woman  is  not  an  easy  one  for  a  lover. 
Young  love  prompts  praise,  and  is  the  happy  parent  of  uncon 
scious  flattery  ;  and  when  love  as  true  and  tender  ventures  to 


THE   ISLAND  STORY.  125 

speak  another  language  besides  this  its  first,  the  sensitive  ear  is 
apt  to  detect  or  fancy  harshness,  in  the  softest  tones  that  can 
frame  words  of  reproof  or  even  advice.  It  was  not  long  before 
Katherine  began  to  feel  herself  wounded  by  difference  of  opin 
ion,  by  objections,  by  hesitation,  even.  Her  ideal  was  built  up 
of  materials  furnished  only  by  her  own  imagination,  and  she 
never  suspected  that  a  wife  who  wholly  and  ardently  loved,  would 
have  borrowed  from  the  beloved  one  a  thousand  tints  and  graces 
for  the  fabric,  if  not  the  very  foundations.  She  felt  her  hus 
band's  superiority  with  pride,  but  not  without  a  secret  and  un 
recognized  pain.  He  was  so  reasonable  !  she  did  not  relish  the 
unintentional  compulsion  of  his  calmer  and  better  regulated 
nature,  and  in  her  heart  she  called  it  an  iron  will,  never  suspect 
ing  the  adamant  of  her  own,  by  means  of  which  she  discovered, 
or  thought  she  discovered,  the  unyielding  nature  of  his.  Yet 
these  difficulties  were  but  incipient.  The  early  domestic  skies 
were  rosy  and  tranquil,  and  only  a  trained  eye  could  have  dis 
cerned  in  the  horizon  the  hand's  breadth  of  cloudy  bar  that 
threatened  their  happy  calm. 

Mr.  Ellis's  first  care  had  been  to  invite  George  Fountain  to 
become  an  inmate  of  his  house,  and  his  next  to  procure  for  him 
the  best  instruction,  and  to  give  his  really  fine  talents  every  op 
portunity  of  development.  This  delighted  Katherine,  and  she 
acceded  willingly  to  her  husband's  suggestion  that  she  should 
take  part  in  such  of  George's  lessons  as  befitted  her,  for  the 
sake  of  regular  occupation  during  a  portion  of  the  morning,  as 
well  as  to  supply  certain  deficiencies  in  her  education.  This 
went  on  admirably.  Katherine  found  herself  all  the  more  at 
leisure  for  this  regularity  of  employment,  and  the  pleasure  of 
improvement  began  to  make  itself  felt.  Ellis  looked  on, 


126  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

delighted,  and  his  own  personal  part  in  the  labor  of  love  was 
not  wanting.  He  turned  Katherine's  attention  to  books,  and 
read  with  her  his  favorite  authors.  Her  taste,  naturally  good, 
began  to  expand  under  cultivation,  and  her  discrimination 
unfolded  itself  in  proportion.  It  was  all  a  delicious  voyage  of 
discovery,  through  summer  seas,  touching  at  islands  of  adven 
ture  and  pleasant  surprise,  with  a  pilot  who  possessed  the  happy 
power  of  guiding  the  winds  and  smoothing  the  waters  at  his 


Love  at  the  helm  and  pleasure  in  the  breeze. 

Mr.  Deane  was  often  present  at  these  readings,  and  contrib 
uted  not  a  little  by  his  taste  and  knowledge  to  their  variety  and 
interest,  while  it  was  delightful  to  the  young  people  to  be  able 
somewhat  to  relieve  the  melancholy  with  which  a  series  of  mis 
fortunes  and  disappointments  had  shadowed  his  life.  He  pos 
sessed  an  easy  fortune,  but  those  were  gone  with  whom  he 
could  have  enjoyed  it,  and  failing  health  seemed  to  his  some 
what  morbid  feelings  a  reason  for  not  making  more  resolute 
efforts  against  the  encroachments  of  sorrow.  In  George 
Fountain  he  always  took  peculiar  interest.  A  resemblance, 
fancied  or  real,  which  Mr.  Deane  pleased  himself  with  tracing 
between  George  and  his  lost  son,  gave  him  a  wonderful  charm 
in  his  eyes.  Katherine,  who  was  proud  of  her  brother,  soon 
learned  to  love  Mr.  Deane,  and  the  little  party  moved  on  as 
amicably,  and  settled  into  as  habitual  affection,  as  if  they  had 
lived  together  always. 

And  happy  would  it  have  been  if  this  simple  state  of  things 
could  have  continued  unchanged.  Such  seasons  of  calm,  un 
marked  by  exciting  events,  yet  full  of  pure  and  wholesome  life 


THE   ISLAND   STORY.  127 

and  meaning,  are  the  seed  time  of  the  future.  But  the  plans 
of  life  of  those  who  live  in  society  are  much  at  the  mercy  of 

circumstances.  The  library  in Square  had  not  been  more 

than  a  few  months  the  scene  of  the  studies  and  amusements 
we  have  mentioned,  when  Mr.  Ellis  came  in  one  morning,  look 
ing  blank  and  almost  vexed,  and  holding  in  his  hand  a  note 
from  Mrs.  Enfield. 

"  My  sister  writes  me,"  he  said,  "  that  our  cousin  Mrs.  St. 
John,  of  Baltimore,  is  coming  here  for  a  few  weeks  ;  and  that 
she  hopes,  as  we  are  at  housekeeping  and  she  is  not,  we  shall 
ask  her  to  stay  with  us."  This  was  a  compliment  the  Enfields 
often  paid  their  friends — one  of  the  dignified  and  convenient 
results  of  boarding-house  existence. 

Katherine  suppressed  an  exclamation  of  dismay,  which  she 
felt  would  be  unbecoming  on  the  occasion  of  a  first  visit  from 
her  husband's  relations  ;  but  a  long  perspective  of  interruption, 
constraint,  and  forced  gayety,  with  the  dreaded  figures  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Enfield  intermixed,  rose  up  before  her  startled  imagi 
nation.  She  remembered  having  heard  something  of  what  Mrs. 
St.  John's  visits  were,  and  that  their  annual  recurrence  had 
been  one  motive  for  the  Enfields'  breaking  up  housekeeping. 

"  What  shall  I  say,  dear  ?"  said  Ellis,  with  a  smile  that  had 
a  dolorous  twinkle  in  the  eye. 

"  Oh,  that  we  shall  be  very  happy,  of  course,"  said  Kathe 
rine,  smiling  back  in  the  same  spirit,  "  though  I  own  I  feel  my 
incompetency  to  entertain  Mrs.  St.  John." 

"  You  need  be  under  no  uneasiness  on  that  score,"  said  her 
husband,  "  for  Mrs.  St.  John  is  a  lady  who  always  makes  her 
wishes  known,  and  contrives  to  entertain  herself  wherever  she 
is." 


128  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

So  Mrs.  St.  John  came,  and  with  her  not  only  her  own  ser 
vant,  who  was  expected,  but  her  son  an.d  his  servant,  who  had 
not  even  been  mentioned.  They  arrived  at  night,  and  as  Mrs. 
St.  John  said,  nearly  dead  with  fatigue  and  exhaustion. 

Here  were  four  rooms  to  be  occupied,  instead  of  two,  as 
Katherine  had  expected.  But  the  house  was  so  ample  that  this 
difficulty  was  but  momentary.  Not  so  that  which  arose  when 
Mrs.  St.  John  was  shown  into  her  room. 

"  Charming  !"  she  exclained,  looking  round  with  her  glass. 
"  How  very  beautifully  you  have  arranged  every  thing.  But, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Ellis,  I  fear  I  shall  have  to  be  troublesome 
enough  to  beg  you  will  have  those  curtains  removed,  for  I  never 
sleep  under  any  thing  of  the  sort  ;  I  consider  them  extremely 
unwholesome." 

"  Will  draperies  so  light  as  these  incommode  you  ?"  said 
Katherine,  who  thought  with  dismay  of  the  attempt  to  take 
down  in  a  few  minutes  what  the  upholsterer  had  been  hours  in 
putting  up. 

"  0  yes,  indeed — I  could  not  think  of  attempting  to  sleep 
under  them.  The  very  idea  is  quite  enough.  Just  allow  the 
servants  to  take  them  down,  if  you  please,  and  I  will  return  to 
the  drawing-room  for  a  few  minutes." 

Mrs.  St.  John  established  herself  on  the  sofa  in  an  attitude 
of  elegant  languor,  requesting  Katherine,  who  had  been  hoping 
to  slip  away  to  attend  to  the  demolition  of  her  beautiful  drape 
ries,  to  sit  by  her  side.  She  complained  of  excessive  fatigue, 
and  required  the  incessant  attention  of  her  servant.  After  sev 
eral  things  had  been  brought  for  her  refreshment  she  seemed  a 
little  revived,  and  asked  Katherine  to  play  something  for  her. 
This  was  a  new  trial  for  our  bride,  whose  music  was  but  medi- 


THE    ISLAND    STORY.  129 

ocre  ;  so  she  endeavored  to  excuse  herself,  but  there  was  no 
escape.  She  felt  herself  to  be  succeeding  pretty  well,  when 
Mrs.  St.  John  exclaimed,  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Ellis  1  I  forgot  to 
ask  whether  there  are  draperies  in  Eugene's  room.  If  there 
are,  I  fear  I  must  trouble  you  to  have  those  removed,  too,  for  I 
would  not  dare  to  allow  him  to  sleep  under  them.  His  health 
is  very  delicate  1" 

Glad  to  escape  the  piano-forte,  Katherine  withdrew  to  give 
the  necessary  orders.  Mrs.  St.  John  surveyed  her  retreating 
form  through  her  glass  with  the  eye  of  a  connoisseur. 

"  A  beautiful  creature  1"  she  said,  encouragingly,  to  Mr. 
Ellis.  "  You  have  really  done  honor  to  your  taste.  She  wants 
nothing  but  an  air  of  fashion.  Her  tournure  is  elegant,  though 
I  see  her  maid  does  not  understand  dressing  her  hair." 

"  She  dresses  her  own  hair,"  said  Mr.  Ellis. 

"  Oh  !  it  isn't  possible  !  How  very  odd  !  Yiolet  shall 
dress  it  for  her,  and  then  you  will  see  the  difference." 

Mr.  Ellis  felt  that  he  did  not  care  to  see  any  difference  ;  but 
knowing  Mrs.  St.  John  of  old,  he  did  not  say  so.  Katherine 
returned,  after  a  while,  looking,  sooth  to  say,  a  little  flushed 
and  uncomfortable.  She  felt  as  if  she  was  already  half  turned 
out  of  her  own  house. 

After  some  little  delay,  the  party  were  satisfactorily  disposed 
of,  and  the  family  had  retired,  when  Mrs.  St.  John's  maid  rap 
ped  at  Mrs.  Ellis's  door,  saying  her  mistress  could  not  sleep,  and 
would  like  a  glass  of  champagne. 

This  brought,  our  host  began  to  hope  his  cousin  was  now 
comfortable  for  a  few  hours  ;  but  in  a  moment  a  loud  shriek 
was  heard,  and  every  body  was  at  once  in  commotion. 

Yiolet  had  managed  to  send  the  champagne  cork  full  in  her 


130  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

mistress's  face,  whither  a  great  part  of  the  wine  had  followed  it. 
So  the  bed  was  to  be  changed,  and  fomentations  to  be  applied 
to  the  probable  bruise,  all  which  occupied  several  persons  until 
near  morning.  We  can  hardly  say  that  the  young  housekeeper 
bore  all  this  with  perfect  equanimity. 

"  Patience,  Katherine  dear,"  said  her  husband.  "  Mrs.  St. 
John  will  settle  down  after  a  few  days.  Change  of  place 
always  makes  her  rather  restless  at  first,  but  when  she  gets  ac 
customed  to  us  she  will  become  quieter.  She  is  really  a  woman 
of  many  good  qualities,  spoiled  by  indulgence  ;  one  of  those 
who,  instead  of  restraining  their  wants,  feel  it  an  absolute  duty 
to  gratify  them  all.  That  she  likes  a  thing,  is  a  sufficient  rea 
son  to  her  for  requiring  it ;  that  she  does  not  like  another,  an 
equally  good  reason  for  refusing  to  put  up  with  it  at  all.  In 
this  way  she  has  become  sensitive  to  the  smallest  inconvenience ." 

Emerson  says  that  "  to  him  who  wears  shoes,  the  whole 
earth  is  covered  with  leather  ;"  a  deep  lesson  to  such  as  carry 
about  with  them  habits  calculated  to  do  any  thing  but  protect 
them  against  the  roughnesses  of  life. 

Katherine  had  begun  to  feel  a  little  anxious  as  to  what  this 
disposition  of  her  guest  might  require  of  her,  but  there  was 
something  so  imposingly  elegant  about  Mrs.  St.  John's  manner 
of  doing  the  most  ungracious  things,  and  she  so  lavished  kind 
words  and  expressions  of  endearment  through  all,  that  there 
arose  a  kind  of  admiration  and  wonder  which  half  neutralized 
the  vexation  ;  and  our  young  wife,  imaginative  and  new  to  life, 
was  excessively  susceptible  to  such  influences.  She  had  Already 
felt  the  first  springings  of  an  ambition  of  society,  and  Mrs. 
St.  John  offered  what  was  the  most  needed  as  to  manner — ex 
ample,  which  good  Aunt  Susan  and  her  simple  circle  had  not 


THE   ISLAND   STORY.  131 

been  able  to  supply.  So  Katherine,  occupied  in  studying  her 
as  a  study,  soon  forgot,  spite  of  private  vexations,  to  judge  of  her 
as  a  woman. 

Breakfast  the  next  morning  were  no  simple  affair,  easily  dis 
patched  and  soon  forgotten.  There  were  so  many  things  to  be 
changed  before  Mrs.  St.  John  or  her  son  could  possibly  touch  a 
morsel,  and  they  had  so  leisurely  a  manner  of  proceeding,  that 
the  morning  was  well  advanced  before  it  was  finished.  In  the 
first  place,  the  lady  felt  the  need  of  the  morning  sun,  and  to 
breakfast  in  a  room  which  did  not  receive  it  chilled  her  for  all 
day  ;  this  was  announced  by  her  maid  before  Mrs.  St.  John  rose, 
as  that  lady  did  not  wish  to  be  dressed  a  moment  too  soon,  for 
fear  of  faintness.  The  table  was  accordingly  removed  to  a  room 
on  the  other  side  of  the  house,  and  in  due  season  Mrs.  St.  John 
was  notified  that  breakfast  waited  her  convenience.  On  this  as 
surance  she  ventured  to  rise,  and  in  just  an  hour  made  her  ap 
pearance  below.  Meanwhile  her  son  had  been  exploring  the 
house,  spending  some  time  on  the  roof  with  his  dog  and  George 
Fountain,  and  sending  his  unhappy  black  boy  up  and  down  stairs 
for  various  articles,  which  he  threw  into  the  garden  in  vain  at 
tempts  to  induce  the  too  sensible  brute  to  jump  after  them  This 
Eugene  was  a  handsome  creature,  with  his  mother's  soft  eyes 
and  soft  manners  ;  wholly  untrained,  except  to  follow  his  own 
inclinations  ;  but  by  nature  amiable  enough,  and  not  devoid  of 
ability.  What  with  personal  beauty  and  elegance  of  dress  and 
manner  there  was  a  splendor  about  them  both  that  soon  fascinat 
ed  Katherine,  ever  alive  to  whatever  stimulates  and  gratifies  the 
aesthetic  faculty.  Not  all  the  airs  they  took  or  the  trouble  they 
gave  could  wholly  disgust  her,  though  her  husband  often  looked 


- 


]32  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

at  her,  surprised  that  she  could  endure  unruffled  what  was  to  his 
sense  of  propriety  and  kindness  so  trying. 

Breakfast  over,  and  all  the  heatings  and  coolings  and  toast- 
ings  and  fannings  required  by  Mrs.  St.  John  happily  accomplish 
ed,  the  hostess  proposed  to  show  her  the  house,  which,  being  the 
still  fresh  fruit  of  her  taste,  was  a  subject  of  some  little  natural 
pride.  Eugene  and  his  dog  accompanied  them,  in  a  skirmishing 
sort  of  way — in  and  out,  before  and  after  them,  and  making  the 
tour  as  much  in  the  way  of  exercise  as  of  examination. 

"  Eugene,  my  love  1"  said  his  mother,  "  you  shouldn't  let 
your  dog  jump  on  those  cushions  I  There  t  he  is  on  the  bed  I 
You  must  really  restrain  him.  You  indulge  him  too  much." 

"  Oh  he's  quite  clean,  mamma,  I  assure  you,^  said  Eugene  j 
"  he  has  been  well  washed  this  morning." 

"  But  perhaps  he  is  damp,  my  dear." 

"  Oh,  I  fancy  not  \» 

Certain  tracks  on  the  pillows  spoke  to  the  point,  but  the 
dog  was  allowed  to  continue  his  innocent  gambols. 

Mrs.  St.  John  admired  judiciously,  but  found  something  to  sug 
gest  in  every  room  ;  and  Katherine  seemed  to  herself  to  be  un 
der  the  influence  of  some  magic  eye-salve,  so  much  did  her 
guest's  remarks  enlighten  her  as  to  the  possibilities  of  her  house. 
Of  the  library,  however,  Mrs.  St.  John  expressed  unqualified  ap 
probation  ;  it  was  so  quiet,  so  charmingly  fitted  upr  and,  open 
ing  into  the  conservatory,  had  the  aspect  of  perpetual  summer. 

"  You  must  positively  let  this  be  my  domain  while  I  stay  with 
you,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  quite  a  little  summer  hearen  I  I  adore 
books  and  flowers,  and  then  this  bay-window  on  the  garden,  and 
this  luxurious  divan — 0  !  you  must  really  let  me  hare  a  little 
bed  here  ;  a  mere  sofa,  or  something  of  that  sort.  I  don't  mind 


THE    ISLAND    STORY.  133 

what  it  is,  la  such  a  delightful  place, — though  while  we  are  put 
ting  up  a  bed,  it  is  certainly  just  as  easy  to  have  it  a  comfortable 
one.  You  will,  dearest  Katherine,  won't  you  ?  you  are  so  ami 
able  that  one  is  not  afraid  to  ask  you  for  any  thing  !" 

Katherine  murmured  something  about  the  library's  being  her 
husband's  peculiar  ground,  but  Mrs.  St.  John  with  the  most  in 
sinuating  smile,  said,  turning  to  Ellis,  "  Oh,  Henry  will  not 
mind  !  He  knows  my  odd  ways,  and  will  indalge  ine,  I  know  !" 
And  the  thing  was  settled,  nem.  ton.,  and  the  state  bedstead 
which,  with  its  delicate  drapery,  Katherine  had  thought  the 
prettiest  thing  that  ever  was  seen,  came  inglorious  into  the  li 
brary,  shorn  of  its  honors,  and  looking  only  cumbrous  and  sadly 
out  of  place.  The  removal  0f  the  bed  brought  with  it  that  of 
most  of  the  furniture  that  belonged  to  it,  and  a  general  turn-out 
in  the  library  ensued.  But  the  pleasure  expressed  by  Mrs.  St. 
John  was  considered,  by  herself  at  least,  ample  consolation.  "  I 
shall  be  so  happy  here  I"  she  said  ;  "  I  shall  hardly  know  when 
to  leave  you  J" 

And  truly  she  seemed  quite  content  in  her  new  quarters,  dis 
covering  every  day  some  new  mode  of  rendering  them  still  more 
comfortable,  such  as  begging  Mrs.  Ellis  to  allow  Eugene  to  oc 
cupy  a  small  room  adjoining,  which  had  been  used  for  some  of 
the  morning  lessons,  now  alas  !  quite  broken  up.  We  need  not 
go  further  into  particulars,  but  leave  Mrs.  St.  John's  ways  to 
the  reader's  imagination. 

What  is  more  important,  Eugene  became  quite  inseparable 
from  George  Fountain,  whose  studies  were  pursued  but  nomi 
nally  .after  the  arrival  of  these  absorbing  guests.  Every  day 
brought  its  plans  and  pleasures  ;  Mrs.  St.  John  had  a  large  cir 
cle  of  fashionable  friends,  and  the  once  quiet  house  in 


134  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

Square  was  the  rendezvous  of  many  very  elegant  and  important 
people,  who  professed  to  have  no  business  in  life.  Mr.  Deane 
and  all  sober  friends  were  in  the  shade,  at  least,  while  the  En- 
fields  and  their  set  reigned  triumphant.  Parties  followed  parties, 
for  Mrs-  St.  John's  delicacy  of  health  never  prevented  her  going 
any  where,  and  Katherine  could  seldom  be  excused  from  accom 
panying  her. 

"  I  shall  stay  with  you  so  short  a  time,"  would  the  fair  guest 
say;  "  you  must  gratify  me  !  Do,  darling."  And  truth  to  say, 
Katherine  soon  was  nothing  loth. 

A  new  world  was  opening  upon  her — a  world  of  imposing  ele 
gance,  accomplishment,  enjoyment,  and,  above  all,  admiration, 
for  in  it  her  beauty  was  as  if  new  found.  That  all  this  proved 
intoxicating,  who  can  wonder  ?  Exquisitely  dressed,  with  the 
aid  of  her  husband's  indulgence  and  Mrs.  St.  John's  practised 
taste,  Katherine  found  herself  every  where  "the  cynosure  of 
neighboring  eyes,"  and  in  those  eyes  she  read  such  confessions 
of  her  loveliness  as  not  all  the  more  measured  and  principled 
admiration  of  her  husband  could  counterbalance.  She  even  be 
gan — oh  !  ungrateful  heart  of  woman  ! — to  fancy  that  Ellis  had 
never  done  her  justice.  The  voice  of  flattery  is  louder  than  the 
tender  whisper  of  affection  ;  the  praise  of  indifference  far  bolder 
than  the  delicate  homage  of  respect.  Mr.  Ellis  saw  with  pain 
his  wife's  gradual  subjection  to  the  influence  of  frivolity,  but  in 
stinctively  forbore  direct  remonstrance.  Mrs.  St.  John's  power 
of  fascination,  her  ceaseless  efforts  to  draw  Katherine  into  the 
c'rcle  in  which  she  herself  delighted  to  move,  and  the  soft  grace 
with  which  she  turned  aside  whatever  objection  he  occasionally 
interposed  when  some  new  entertainment  was  talked  of,  quite 
baffled  him.  He  resolved  to  await  his  cousin's  departure,  hoping 


THE   ISLAND   STORY.  135 

that  with  that  much  desired  era  he  might  once  more  find  his 
wife  all  his  own. 

Philosophize  as  we  may  about  the  folly  of  yielding  to  social 
compulsions,  they  exert  immense  power  over  us  all ;  and,  once 
within  their  charmed  circle,  escape  requires  a  degree  of  resolu 
tion  possessed  by  few.  Why  did  not  Henry  Ellis  at  once  rein 
state  his  household  gods,  and  banish  by  a  word  the  unconscious 
troubler  of  his  peace  ?  Why  did  he  allow  his  wife — young,  beau 
tiful,  and  inexperienced — to  be  caught  in  the  vortex  of  fashion 
able  life,  which  his  soul  detested  ? 

These  were  perhaps  some  of  the  reasons  :  Mrs.  St.  John's 
annual  visit  was  usually  a  short  one  ;  she  was  a  widow,  and 
Henry  one  of  her  very  few  surviving  relations.  She  was  not  a 
person  of  evil  intentions,  and  her  manner  was  so  gentle  and  per 
suasive  that  to  offend  her  would  have  seemed  brutal.  There  was 
nothing  of  positive  and  obvious  evil  threatened  ;  Katherine's 
manners  were  so  pure  and  unexceptionable  that  no  breath  of 
slander  could  approach  her  ;  her  husband  could  only  object  to 
some  loss  of  her  society,  and  as  this  was  voluntary  on  her  part,  his 
pride  demurred  a  little  at  the  thought  of  complaint.  He  suffered 
certainly  some  feeling  of  estrangement  ;  his  affection  was  disap 
pointed,  but  of  this  Katherine  seemed  and  was  wholly  uncon 
scious,  because  she  really  knew  little  of  the  nature  of  deep  and 
exclusive  attachment.  In  this  way  the  thing  went  on  from  day 
to  day,  Mrs.  St.  John  ruling  and  overruling,  Ellis  secretly  un 
comfortable,  not  to  say  miserable,  and — Katherine  perfectly 
happy. 

Upon  the  intimacy  of  the  two  young  men  there  seemed  to  be 
scarcely  any  check  within  the  power  of  Mr.  Ellis.  He  advised 
George,  continually,  and  endeavored  to  induce  him  to  pursue 


136  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

his  studies  with  some  regularity  ;  but  without  apparent  perverse- 
ness,  the  young  man  yet  managed  to  elude  the  kind  care  of  his 
brother-in-law.  Brothers-in-law  are  not  usually  very  bold  or 
very  welcome  advisers  of  young  men.  Aunt  Susan  and  Uncle 
Ashmore  were  alarmed  and  unhappy,  and  remonstrated,  but  with 
as  little  effect.  George's  friend,  Mr.  Deane,  who  might  in  his 
prime  have  had  an  influence  over  George  for  good,  had  been  so 
weakened  by  affliction  that  he  aggravated  the  evil  by  supplying 
him  with  the  money  required  for  a  participation  in  young  St. 
John's  expensive  habits.  Expense  was  the  worst  feature  of 
those  habits  as  yet  ;  vice  was  only  in  perspective  ;  but  such  ex 
pense  would  have  been  out  of  the  question  for  George,  without 
the  injudicious  indulgence  of  Mr.  Deane.  Riding  and  driving, 
trying  and  buying,  comparing  and  exchanging  horses,  formed 
the  present  passion  of  Eugene,  and  in  these  fancies  he  found  a 
ready  coadjutor  in  George,  characteristically  inclined  to  the 
same  indulgence  ;  and  the  two  young  men  immediately  drew 
about  them  several  of  like  tastes  and  worse  ones — the  very  com 
panions  from  whose  influence  and  example  George  Fountain, 
with  his  personal  advantages,  his  facility  and  his  disposition  to 
pleasure,  required  to  be  most  carefully  shielded. 

Before  the  day  fixed  for  Mrs.  St.  John's  departure  arrived, 
she  began  to  complain  of  her  eyes.  She  could  not  imagine  how 
she  had  injured  them  !  but  those  who  observed  her  late  hours 
and  her  general  imprudence  and  self-indulgence,  did  not  find  it 
very  surprising  that  they  exhibited  symptoms  of  inflammation. 
Here  was  a  calamity  !  A  celebrated  oculist  was  immediately 
consulted,  a  dark  room  was  prescribed,  and  a  whole  row  of  vials 
displayed.  Such  curtainings  and  screenings  !  such  contrivings 
of  delicate  nourishment,  that  the  doctor's  views  and  Mrs.  St. 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  137 

John's  might  be  made  to  harmonize,  the  former  forbidding 
every  thing  but  what  was  simple,  the  latter  resolutely  deter 
mined  to  taste  nothing  that  was  not  delicious.  The  house  was 
lik.e  a  hospital,  although  the  disease  was  no  more  severe  than 
many  a  woman  in  different  circumstances  finds  compatible  with 
the  full  performance  of  all  her  household  duties.  Catherine 
was  wholly  taken  up  with  her  friend's  misfortune,  and  learned 
to  speak  of  it  in  terms  no  less  exaggerated  than  her  own  ;  while 
Ellis  felt  almost  reconciled  to  the  prolongation  of  the  visit,  by 
the  circumstance  which  kept  both  ladies  at  home. 

But  George  Fountain  paid  dearer  for  the  detention,  for  he 
became  more  and  more  deeply  acquainted  and  engaged  with  a 
set  of  dissolute  young  men,  decent  in  exterior,  but  in  reality  in 
fected  with  every  vice.  Ellis  in  vain  endeavored  to  keep 
advised  of  his  movements,  and  to  convince  Mr.  Deane  of  the 
danger  of  his  protege.  Mr.  Deane  contented  himself  with  the 
hackneyed  observation  that  'young  men  will  be  young  men,' 
continued  to  supply  George  with  money,  and  allowed  it  to  be 
generally  understood  that  he  meant  to  make  him  his  heir. 

This  gave  the  finishing  stroke  to  George  Fountain's  self-re 
straint.  Mr.  Deane  had  indeed  but  a  moderate  fortune,  but  to 
a  young  man  who  had  never  had  command  of  money  it  seemed 
inexhaustible.  A  short  career  of  extravagance  proved  perfectly 
intoxicating  to  George's  unbalanced  mind,  and  before  the  state 
of  Mrs.  St.  John's  eyes  permitted  her  departure,  he  had 
launched  out  into  the  most  absurd  expenses,  and  become  one  of 
the  leaders  of  the  set  in  whose  wake  he  had  at  first  timidly  fol 
lowed.  Dress  was  with  him  a  mania,  although  he  professed  to 
dislike  ladies'  society ;  to  be  '  stylish '  had  become  his  highest 
ambition,  and  the  imitation  of  '  fast '  men  his  only  study.  Even 


138  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

Katherine,  although  the  fashionable  nonchalance  he  had  acquired 
rather  dazzled  her,  secretly  feared  a  moral  change  for  the 
worse  ;  although  she  habitually  defended  her  brother  from  what 
she  called  and  thought  the  severe  judgment  of  her  husband, 
more  experienced  friends  regarded  George  and  his  pursuits  and 
his  companions  with  grief  and  foreboding.  The  experience  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ashmore,  joined  with  their  unworldly  purity  of 
estimate,  filled  them  with  the  saddest  prognostics. 

"  He  will  be  just  like  his  father  1"  said  Aunt  Susan,  weeping. 
Unhappy  the  sou  of  whom  the  good  say  this  with  tears  of 
sorrow  ! 


"  Remember,  ladies,  that  I  am  all  anxiety,"  said  Mr.  Berry, 
as  the  reader  ceased.  "I  have  heard  of  a  young  lady  who 
after  much  flutter  and  announcement  '  came  out,'  but,  finding 
that  nobody  paid  her  any  attention,  went  in  again.  Xow  as  my 
debut  was  a  failure,  I  think  I  have  shown  enormous  courage  in 
'  coming  out '  a  second  time  ;  so  pray  be  merciful  1" 

They  were  so,  of  course,  for  could  they  expect  human  nature 
to  endure  another  rebuff?  They  praised  the  chapter 

"With  many  a  word  of  kindly  cheer, 
In  pity  half,  and  half  sincere. 

"If  it  is  too  long,"  said  Mr.  Berry,  "give  me  some  credit  for 
not  going  on  and  finishing  the  story,  as  I  was  strongly  tempted 
to  do.  One  gets  so  interested  in  these  things." 

Fate  selected  Mr.  Shelton  next,  and  it  was  in  vain  he  urged 
that  the  chapter  contributed  by  Egeria  ought  to  satisfy  the 
law — husbaud  and  wife  being  one.  He  was  entangled  in  long 


THE   ISLAND    STORY.  139 

wreaths  of  grape-vine,  and  led  to  the  House  of  Industry  by 
laughing  girls,  while  Mr.  Berry,  enjoying  his  reluctance,  cried — 

"  Ha,  Apollo !  floats  his  golden 
Hair,  all  mist-like  where  he  stands ; 
While  the  muses  hang  enfolding 
Knee,  and  foot  with  faint,  wild  hands  ? 
'Neath  the  clanging  of  thy  bow, 
Isiobe  looked  lost  as  thou  !" 

The  only  grace  the  victim  could  obtain  was  leave  that  Egor'a 
should  share  his  seclusion.  This  was  mere  policy,  for  he  would 
have  done  nothing  but  doleful  things  else. 


"  What  boots  the  cunning  pilot's  skill 
To  tell  which  way  to  shape  their  course, 
When  he  that  steers  will  have  his  will 
And  drive  them  where  he  list,  perforce. 
So  Reason  shows  the  truth  in  vain 
When  fond  Desire  as  king  doth  reign." 

Once  more  in  undisputed  possession  of  his  wife's  society, 
Henry  Ellis  set  about  a  return  to  the  habits  of  life  that  had 
been  productive  of  so  much  happiness  before  Mrs.  St.  John's 
arrival.  Masters  were  recalled,  the  library  restored  to  its 
proper  calm,  and  the  morning  hours  once  more  devoted  to  im 
provement.  But  where  was  the  presiding  spirit  of  the  place  and 
hour  ?  Her  graceful  semblance  indeed  was  there  ;  she  would 
not  unamiably  resist  her  husband's  wishes  ;  but  she  could  not 
recall  her  interest  in  the  pursuits  which  had  begun  to  charm  her 
before  she  ate  of  the  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  admiration  and 
excitement,  Music  alone  she  continued  to  pursue  with  enthusi- 


140  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

asm,  because  she  liked  it ;  that  she  did  not  Hke  other  things 
was  now  quite  sufficient  reason  for  declining  to  attend  to  them. 
George,  taking  shelter  under  her  example,  disliked  almost 
every  thing  too  ;  and  Ellis  had  the  vexation  of  finding  his 
wishes  thwarted  and  his  judgment  practically  contemned,  bjr 
those  whom  of  all  others  he  sought  to  benefit.  He  remonstra 
ted,  but  Katherine  only  wept,  and  George  pouted.  He  offered 
to  make  any  change  in  plans,  modes  or  teachers,  but  nothing 
was  proposed.  This  passive  resistance  was  too  much  for  even 
his  patience,  and  he  gave  up.  He  returned  gradually  to  his 
own  favorite  employments,  and  left  his  wife  to  hers,  not  without 
a  feeling  of  disappointment,  as  if  a  cloud  had  come  between 
him  and  the  sun  of  his  life.  With  George,  however,  he  contin 
ued  to  struggle,  as  he  would  have  done  with  a  predetermined 
suicide.  He  accomplished  at  last  the  great  object  of  removing 
the  young  man  into  the  family  of  a  clergyman  in  the  country, 
with  whom  he  was  to  study  for  at  least  one  year,  Mr.  Deane 
promising  that  during  that  period  his  now  adopted  son  should 
receive  no  money  beyond  a  certain  stipulated  allowance,  suffi 
cient  for  necessary  expenses. 

When  it  was  time  for  the  gay  world  to  retreat  into  the  coun 
try  for  the  summer,  Ellis  proposed  to  his  wife  a  tour  which 
should  embrace  several  of  the  most  striking  points  of  interest, 
and  give  him  at  the  same  time  an  opportunity  of  introducing 
her  to  a  beloved  sister,  whom  the  accidents  of  life  had  placed 
in  a  remote  county,  where  she  lived  in  that  sort  of  unsuperflu- 
ous  state  which,  while  it  allows  comfort,  forbids  much  journey 
ing,  and  renders  the  occasional  visit  of  a  dear  friend  balm  for  a 
whole  year. 

"  My  sister  will  be  delighted  to  see  you,"  said  he,  "  and  she 


THE  ISLAND   STORY.  141 

really  has  a  right  to  see  you.  I  engage  beforehand  that  you 
shall  love  her,  for  you  cannot  help  it.  She  is  the  most  loveable 
creature  in  the  world,  and  I  long  to  see  the  two  beings  I  love 
best  together.  Then  you  have  never  seen  the  White  Mountains, 
nor  the  Lakes,  nor  Niagara — " 

"  Xor  any  thing,"  said  Katherine  ;  "  but  I  was  in  hopes  you 

would  be  disposed  to  go  to  S .  Mrs.  Ainslie  and  Mrs. 

Hartington  and  Madame  de  Blainville  are  going  there,  and  all 
the  Prestons  and  Miss  Demarest — every  body,  in  short." 

If  there  was  any  thing  that  the  soul  of  Henry  Ellis  hated,  it 
was  a  mere  fashionable  watering  place,  with  "  every  body"  for 
society-r-a  summer  sojourn  which  owes  its  sole  charm  to  the 
momentary  caprice  of  a  few  leaders  of  ton  ;  without  recommen 
dations  of  scenery,  of  healthfulness,  of  agreeable  walks  and 
rides,  or  any  thing  else  that  rational  human  beings  should  con 
sider  in  choosing  a  place  of  retreat  from  the  wearing  excite 
ments  and  unhandsome  emulations  of  the  city. 

"  0  Katherine,"  he  said,  "  is  it  possible  you  can  like  such  a 

place  as  S • !  Surely,  dear  love,  you  have  had  enough  of 

the  fatigue  of  company  and  dress  this  winter  !  You  are  thin — 
you  need  recruiting — repose." 

"  Travelling  is  not  repose,  I  am  sure,"  said  Katherine,  with 
an  air  somewhat  tinctured  with  displeasure.  "  If  you  think  I 
need  nothing  but  repose,  we  had  better  stay  at  home." 

Ellis  felt  pained  by  her  manner,  and  by  her  forgetting  to  no 
tice  his  desire  to  visit  his  sister.  She  remembered  this  after 
wards,  and  said  she  would  make  his  sister  a  visit  if  he  wished  it, 
— and  with  this  rather  ungracious  consent  he  contented  himself 
as  best  he  might.  The  result  was  a  sort  of  compromise, — six 
weeks  at  S ,  and  then  a  short  tour  and  the  proposed  visit. 


142  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

Katherme  was  soon  immersed  in  preparations  for  this  summer 
recreation.  She  had  very  little  time  for  her  husband  or  Aunt 
Susan,  and  complained  every  evening  of  fatigue. 

"  What  can  you  have  to  do  ?"  said  Aunt  Susan  ;  "  I  am 
sure,  darling,  you  had  every  thing  heart  could  wish,  only  last 
fall,  and  you  have  had  a  good  many  new  dresses  since." 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  a  thing  fit  to  wear  at  S ,"  said  Kathe- 

rine  ;  "  ladies  dress  superbly  there.  Mr.  Fitzgerald  says  that  a 
breakfast  at  S is  like  Madame  Florette's  show-rooms  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  I  wouldn't  go  there,  then,"  said  simple 
Aunt  Susan.  "  It  must  be  more  trouble  than  it's  worth." 

This  remark  was  received  in  silence. 

"  What  kind  of  people  do  you  meet  there,  dear  ?"  continued 
Mrs.  Ashmore. 

"  0,  the  first  people  in  town — " 

"  But  do  you  like  them  particularly  ?" 

Katherme  hesitated  a  little.     She  had  not  asked  herself  this. 

"I  do  not  know  that  1  like  them  especially,  but  one  likes  to 
be  in  the  best  society,  and  I  certainly  see  nothing  wrong  about 
fashionable  people." 

"If  we  should  ask  ourselves  whether  the  same  persons, 
divested  of  the  air  of  fashion,  would  be  our  chosen  companions," 
— Ellis  began — 

"I  do  not  think  that  would  be  fair,"  said  Katherine,  with  a 
slight  flush.  "  The  air  of  fashion  is  a  charm,  of  itself.  People 
of  fashion  are  graceful  and  elegant.  They  understand  life,  and 
know  how  to  make  it  agreeable.  I  am  sure  you  do  not  like 
coarse  people  any  better  than  I  do." 

"  But  does  the  only  choice  lie  between  coarse  people  and  peo 
ple  of  fashion,  dear  ?  There  are  many  cultivated  and  refined 


THE    ISLAND    STORY.  143 

people  who  have  no  desire  to  belong  to  the  fashionable  world, 
and  who  borrow  no  charm  from  it." 

"  I  cannot  find  them,"  said  Katherine,  pettishly  ;  "I  know 
plenty  of  disagreeable  good  people,  but  I  find  no  pleasure  in 
their  society." 

Aunt  Susan  sighed. 

"  If  all  good  people  were  like  you,  dear  Aunty," — she  added, 
repenting  ;  "  but  some  of  them  are  so  unlovely  !" 

"  There  are  worse  sins  than  sins  against  taste,"  said  Mr.  Ellis. 
"  Allowing  that  good  people  are  not  as  careful  to  be  agreeable 
as  they  ought  to  be,  it  may  still  be  a  question  whether  our  vir 
tue  is  not  safer  in  their  company.  The  experience  of  the  world 
says  yes.  It  tells  us  of  the  insidious  evils  of  a  life  of  pleasure." 

"  You  speak  as  if  pleasure  meant  vice,"  said  Katherine  ;  "  / 
think  it  means  beauty,  and  grace,  and  innocent  excitement, — 
whatever  gratifies  our  taste  without  doing  any  body  harm." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  dear,"  Ellis  replied,  willing  to  soothe 
the  irritation  which  he  saw  reddening  the  cheek  of  his  be 
loved  ;  "  there  is  only  a  question  of  amount  between  us.  Our 
estimate  is  the  same,  but  I  should  perhaps  differ  a  little  from 
you  as  to  the  prominence  to  be  given  to  pleasure  as  a  pursuit. 
I  enjoy  it  most  when  it  comes  incidentally,  and  as  the  result  of 
other  pursuits,  and  I  cannot  but  think  you  will  one  day  do  so 
too." 

He  stopped,  for  he  hated  to  seem  to  lecture,  and  his  wife  for 
bore  to  reply,  for  she  did  not  wish  to  be  convinced.  A  moment 
after,  he  asked, — 

"Kate,  dear,  did  you  ever  read  Wordsworth's  Ode  to 
Duty  ?" 

Katherine  said  "No." 


144     •  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

"  Pray  read  it,  love  ;  I  consider  it  one  of  our  duties  to  learn 
it  by  heart.  You  brought  a  stanza  of  it  to  my  mind — 

"  There  are  who  ask  not  if  thine  eye 

Be  on  them ;  who,  in  love  and  truth 
"Where  no  misgiving  is,  rely 

Upon  the  genial  sense  of  youth  ; 
Glad  hearts!  without  reproach  or  blot, 
"Who  do  thy  work  and  know  it  not  I 
Oh !  if.  through  confidence  misplaced, 
They  fail— thy  saving  arms,  dread  Power,  around  them  cast  1" 

Katherine  blushed,  and  tears  filled  her  eyes.  Ellis,  drawing  her 
tenderly  towards  him,  went  on  : 

"  Serene  will  be  our  days,  and  bright 
And  happy  will  our  nature  be, 
"When  Love  is  an  unerring  light 
And  joy  its  own  security. 
And  they  a  blissful  course  may  hold 
Even  now,  who,  not  unwisely  bold, 
Live  in  the  spirit  of  this  creed, 
Yet  seek  thy  firm  support,  according  to  their  need." 

Katherine  smiled  up  into  her  husband's  face  through  her  tears, 
feeling,  she  knew  not  why,  as  if  a  new  chord  had  been  struck 
between  them.  How  often  is  poetry  the  interpreter  between 
heart  and  heart  that  might  otherwise  be  slow  to  understand 
each  other  ! 

"  I  sometimes  think  you  don't  sympathize  with  me,"  she 
said. 

"  Do  you  ever  think  your  happiness  is  not  mine  ?  that  I  have 
a  wish  separate  from  you  ?  Naughty  girl  I  I  set  you  the 
whole  Ode  to  Duty  as  a  task,  and  command  you  to  repeat  it  to 


THE   ISLAND  STORY.  145 

me  this  day  week,  Madame  Florette  and  the  whole  army  of 
dress-makers  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding." 

"Ah — I  see  you  think  I  am  wholly  occupied  with  dress 
makers  and  nonsense  1" 

"  Ben  Jonson  says  '  rich  apparel  hath  strange  virtues  ;  it 
maketh  him  that  hath  it  without  means  esteemed  for  an  excel 
lent  wit ;  he  that  enjoys  it  with  means  puts  the  world  in 
remembrance  of  his  means  ;  it  helps  the  deformities  of  nature, 
gives  lustre  to  her  beauties,  and  makes  a  continual  holiday 
where  it  shines.'  Queen  Elizabeth  had  three  thousand  gowns, 
and  she  was  a  wise  woman  surely  I" 

Katherine  was  not  above  half  satisfied  with  this  gay  answer. 
She  detected  in  it  something  like  contempt  for  the  pursuits  of 
which  her  heart  confessed  the  charm.  But  the  affection  that 
glowed  and  sparkled  in  her  husband's  eyes  almost  consoled  her 
for  the  satire.  Aunt  Susan  inquired  about  the  journey  and  the 
time  of  return. 

"  And  George  is  not  to  come  home  until  October  ?" 

"  Not  on  any  consideration." 

"  You  will  certainly  be  here  in  time  for  Mary's  marriage  ?" 

"  Certainly — without  fail !  Nothing  would  tempt  me  to  miss 
dear  Mary's  marriage." 

Mary  Ashmore  was  to  be  married  in  October  to  a  junior 
partner  of  her  father,  "  not  rich,"  Aunt  Susan  said,  "  but  good  I" 
Dear,  good  Aunt  Susan  !  who  had  been  able  to  live  half  way 
through  this  gilded,  tinsel,  hard  world  of  ours,  not  only  uncor- 
rupted  by  its  cold  and  false  maxims,  but  absolutely  untinged 
by  its  pervading  colors.  Katherine,  though  partaking  of  her 
nature,  had  yet  some  different  elements  in  her  composition  ;  so 

the  Ellises  went  to  S . 

10 


146  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

In  its  best  aspect,  life  at  a  fashionable  watering-place  is  a 
scene  of  "  strenuous  idleness."  Days  undivided  by  regular  em 
ployment  are  necessarily  long,  and  it  therefore  becomes  an  object 
to  kill  Time.  Towards  this  all  ingenuity  is  directed — self-inter 
est  stimulating  the  invention  of  hotel-keepers,  and  necessity  that 
of  their  guests, — until  at  length  killing  Time  becomes  a  pursuit, 
and  thus  satisfying — in  some  sort — the  craving  of  nature, 
appeases  her  reproaches.  We  have  heard  of  gentlemen  racing 
snails,  and  betting  on  push-pin,  and  ladies  playing  jack-straws 
and  gambling  privately  for  bonbons,  as  resources  against  ennui  at 
a  watering-place  ;  but  these  stories  must  refer  to  more  simple 
and  "innocent  days  than  ours.  Idleness  is  no  longer  the  worst 
sin  laid  at  the  door  of  fashionable  summer  retreats.  Idleness  is 
supposed,  in  some  codes,  to  be  a  very  commendable  thing,  in 
summer  ;  a  wholesome  let-up  after  the  laborious  excitement  of 
the  winter  ;  a  salutary  sleep  of  the  over-wearied  powers,  driven 
to  their  utmost  tension  during  the  remainder  of  the  year  ;  and, 
perhaps,  allowing  the  strain  to  be  necessary,  the  unbending  of 
the  bow  is  necessary  too.  But  idleness  is  a  medicine  that  must 
be  pure  in  order  to  be  efficacious.  It  will  not  do  mixed  with 
the  most  pernicious  stimulants — the  concentrated  essence  of  the 
drugs  that  did  the  mischief.  We  cannot  cure  the  effect  of  late 
hours,  homceopathically,  by  sitting  up  later  ;  neutralize  the  ex 
travagance  of  the  winter  by  the  greater  extravagance  of  the 
summer,  or  wipe  out,  by  new  flirtations,  the  scandal  of  the  old ; 
nor  can  we  atone  for  the  unwholesome  practices  of  nine  months 
of  the  twelve,  by  still  greater  outrages  upon  nature  during  the 
other  three.  Rural  retirement  is  indeed  salutary  to  jaded 
spirits  ;  rural  sights  and  sounds  are  balm  to  world-wearied 
senses  ;  rural  quiet  a  life-spring  to  exhausted  brains.  But  it  is 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  147 

the  farm-house,  or  the  plain,  rural  residence,  or  the  exhilarating 
tour  ;  not  the  gay  season  at  a  great  hotel,  that  can  yield  these. 
Contrast  the  life  of  fashion  at  a  watering-place,  haunted  by 
those  who  seek  in  the  country  only  a  meaner  city,  with  this 
beautiful  picture  of  summer  hours  renewing  a  mind  worn  with 
noble  labors. 

How  often,  hither  wandering  down, 

My  Arthur  found  your  shadows  fair ; 

And  shook  to  all  the  liberal  air 
The  dust  and  din  and  steam  of  town ! 

O  joy  to  him,  in  this  retreat 

Immantled  in  ambrosial  dark, 

To  drink  the  cooler  air,  and  mark 
The  landscape  winking  through  the  heat. 

Nor  less  it  pleased,  in  livelier  moods, 
Beyond  the  bounding  hill  to  stray, 
And  break  the  livelong  summer  day 
With  banquet  In  the  distant  woods; 

Whereat  we  glanced  from  theme  to  theme, 

Discussed  the  books  to  love  or  hate. 

Or  touched  the  changes  of  the  State, 
Or  threaded  some  Socratic  dream. 

But  if  I  praised  the  busy  town, 

He  loved  to  rail  against  it  still, 

For,  "  ground  in  yonder  social  mill, 
We  rub  each  other's  angles  down, 

And  merge,"  he  said,  "  In  form  and  gloss 
The  picturesque  of  man  and  man.1' 

No  wonder  that  Katherine  and  her  husband  came  to  such 
different  opinions  as  to  the  best  way  of  passing  the  summer, 
when  his  ideal  was  that  of  the  poet,  while  hers  was  shaped  by 
the  counsels  —conscious  and  unconscious — of — Mrs.  St.  John. 


148  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

"  The  sources  of  thought  multiply  beyond  calculation  the 
sources  of  feeling,  and,  mingled,  they  rush  together  in  a  torrent 
deep  and  strong." 

Much  of  cultivation  must  yet  pass  into  the  murmuring  cur 
rent  of  our  young  wife's  thoughts,  before  she  will  discover  her 
true  self.  Certain  vases  of  rare  and  delicate  device  are  so  con 
trived  as  not  to  disclose  their  most  precious  beauty  until  wine  is 
poured  into  them,  and  a  lamp's  rays  set  streaming  through  their 
magic  enamelling.  High  romantic  lore  was  the  wine  that  Kath- 
erine's  nature  needed,  and  Love  the  lamp  that  must  give  life  to 
her  loveliness.  At  present  the  outward  filled  and  occupied  her 
wholly — not,  indeed,  without  an  occasional  misgiving  as  to  the 
dignity  and  permanence  of  her  pleasures,  but  with  an  intoxica 
tion  that  drowned  importunate  thoughts.  Her  husband,  seeing 
her  error,  waited  with  a  noble  patience  for  the  awakening. 
Firm  in  his  creed  that  beauty  so  harmonious  as  hers  must  have 
a  deep  and  sacred  significance,  he  watched  the  fusing  elements 
of  her  character,  as  the  alchemist  of  old  time  gazed  reveren 
tially  into  the  crucible  which  was  to  give  to  his  longing  eyes 
pure  gold  or  the  solvent  of  all  mysteries.  The  image  of  what 
she  would  be  was  drawn  so  clearly  on  his  heart,  that  whatever 
seemed  for  the  moment  to  differ  from  it  was  but  as  a  passing 
shadow,  sure  to  leave  the  picture  unchanged,  or  only  the 
brighter  for  the  momentary  eclipse.  Katherine  felt  some  secret 
undefined  consciousness  of  this,  and  had  already  learned  to  seek 
approbation  in  her  husband's  eye,  or  to  avoid  that  eye  when  she 
felt  it  would  not  give  the  response  she  began  to  covet ;  'but  the 
bewildering  round  of  emptiness  in  which  she  was  now  engaged, 
drew  her,  by  new  attractions,  further  and  further  from  this  her 
better  home  and  centre,  and  the  people  with  whom  she  associ- 


THE   ISLAND   STORY.  149 

ated  managed  very  soon  to  give  her  husband  in  her  eyes  the  air 
of  a  sort  of  Mentor — of  undeniable  wisdom,  but  given  to  incon 
venient  applications  of  it ;  a  person  to  be  propitiated  rather 
than  satisfied  ;  one  who  mistook  lack  of  sympathy  for  disappro 
bation,  and  incapacity  to  enjoy  for  moral  distaste.  Like  a 
child's  fairy  pinnace  on  a  summer  sea,  Katheriue  flitted  before 
the  silly  gale  ;  but  there  was  all  the  while,  lying  under  the 
waves,  a  strong  though  slender  thread,  leading  to  a  kind  and 
judicious  hand,  ever  ready  to  draw  the  frail  bark  to  its  haven 
of  safety  on  the  approach  of  danger. 

Happy  wife  !  to  be  so  loved  by  such  a  heart.  Happy  hus 
band  !  whose  calm  Love  itself  could  not  unbalance  ;  whose 
tenderness  was  not  weakness,  nor  his  guiding  restraint  5  who 
could  respect  difference  and  wait  for  assimilation  ;  tempering 
decision  with  indulgence,  and  jealously  watching  his  own  deepest 
convictions  lest  they  should  tend  to  oppression. 


Thus  ended  the  chapter  of  Mr.  Shelton,  on  which  the  judges 
took  occasion  to  quiz  him  a  little,  because  he  seemed  so  knowing 
about  the  tactics  of  married  life,  and  especially  the  whims  aud 
perverseness  of  young  wives. 

"  O,  my  wife  helped  me,  you  know  !"  he  said  ;  "  she  knew  by 
instinct  all  about  being  perverse,  although  she  has  not  begun  to 
practise  it  yet.  I  consider  it  very  fortunate  that  I  hit  upou 
just  such  a  subject ;  '  forewarned  forearmed,'  you  know.  I 
have  her  renunciation  of  all  that's  naughty,  under  her  own 
hand." 

The  chapter  being  accepted,  Miss  Ingoldsby  was  at  last 
chosen  scribe. 


150  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  she  said,  "  that  I,  who  know  nothing  of 
married  life,  should  be  fated  to  this  chapter,  where  of  course 
our  young  wife  must  behave  shockingly.  It  will  really  go 
against  my  convictions,  for  it  seems  as  if  it  would  be  easy  to  be 
good,  with  such  a  husband." 

"  Don't  you  know  that  your  very  good  men  always  have  bad 
wives  ?"  said  Mrs.  Whipple — 

"  What  a  horrible  libel  upon  our  sex  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mar- 
ston.  "  If  you  mean  weakly  indulgent  men,  who  are  too  indo 
lent  to  treat  their  wives  as  if  they  were  rational  beings,  I  agree 
with  you  ;  but  I  do  not  call  those  good  husbands  !  A  certain 
kind  of  indulgence  is  merely  covert  insult  to  the  supposed  weak 
ness  and  incompetency  of  the  woman.  I  think  our  '  Woman's 
Rights'  people  quite  right  in  protesting  against  consideration 
which  is  not  respect." 

"  But  we  are  not  making  our  hero  a  merely  indulgent  hus 
band—" 

"  Pray  make  him  a  man,  while  you  are  about  it ;"  said  Mr. 
Ingoldsby,  "not  a  milk-sop,  so  in  love  with  his  wife's  pretty  face 
that  he  makes  a  baby  of  her  I" 

"  I  should  like  to  see  what  kind  of  a  hero  you  would  draw, 
papa,"  replied  Elinor,  laughing. 

"  A  fine  sturdy  fellow,  with  a  will  of  his  own,"  said  the  old 
gentleman  ;  "  one  that  would  have  no  nonsense  t  One  that 
would  have  blown  Mrs.  St.  John  sky-high  1  This  Ellis  lets 
every  body  walk  over  him." 

"  Wait  for  the  end,"  said  the  several  authors — and  Mr.  In 
goldsby  seemed  quite  content  to  wait. 

Miss  Ingoldsby's  chapter  was  called 


THE  ISLAND  STORY. 


VENTURING  S. 

If  ye  are  fair 

Mankind  will  crowd  about  you,  thick  as  when 
Tho  full-faced  moon  sits  silver  on  the  sea, 
The  eager  waves  lift  up  their  gleaming  heads, 
Each  shouldering  for  her  smile. 

After  a  fortnight  at  S ,  Mr.  Ellis  was  obliged  to  return 

to  town  on  business,  and  just  as  he  was  considering  how  best  to 
leave  Katherine  in  that  giddy  whirl,  to  his  no  small  vexation 
Mrs.  St.  John  and  her  son  arrived. 

"  Now  there  will  be  no  difficulty," — said  Mrs.  Ellis. 

Her  husband  said  nothing. 

"Eugene  can  go  with  us  every  where,"  said  Mrs.  St.  John. 

There  was  but  one  direction  in  which  it  would  have  pleased 
Mr.  Ellis  to  see  the  young  man  escorting  his  mother — viz. 
directly  back  to  Baltimore. 

"  Be  prudent,  dearest,"  said  the  anxious  husband,  at  parting  ; 
"  you  are  in  a  nest  of  cruel  slanders  and  envies.  Do  not  think 
me  over-careful  if  I  advise  you  not  to  join  in  any  party  of  pleas 
ure  while  I  am  absent — " 

"  You  make  me  think  of  Blue-Beard,"  said  Katherine,  laugh 
ing. 

"  Take  care,  then,"  said  Ellis,  "  That  Mrs.  St.  John  does  not 
prove  a  '  Sister  Anne'  1" 


It  would  have  been  a  treat  to  a  cynical  observer  to  watch 
Mrs.  St.  John's  course  at  S ;  to  see  her,  whom  no  luxury 


152  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

of  appointments  could  satisfy,  cooped  up  in  a  wretched  little 
nook  ;  her,  whose  delicacy  at  table  almost  prevented  those  about 
her  from  enjoying  any  thing,  seated  at  a  reeking,  buzzing,  scuf 
fling  dinner  of  hundreds,  where  the  utmost  vulgarity  of  manners 
and  costume  made  elegance  look  tame,  and  taste  faded,  in  com 
parison  ;  her,  for  whose  privacy  no  drawing-room  could  be 
closely  enough  curtained  from  the  light  of  common  day,  seated 
in  a  staring  parlor  or  walking  a  public  piazza,  surrounded  by 
strange  women,  and  stared  at  by  smoking  men.  The  shadowy 
and  shrinking  feebleness  of  last  winter  was  changed  into  a  de 
fensive  manner,  as  of  one  who  must  be  prepared  for  emergen 
cies  and  impertinences  ;  the  calm  self-complacency  which  had 
distinguished  her  maintien  where  there  was  no  threatening  of 
direct  rivalry,  had  changed  into  an  anxious  look,  which  watched 
and  weighed  each  new-comer  with  painful  or  exulting  self-com 
parison.  People,  like  pictures,  have  their  own  proper  lights  ; 

and  in  the  glaring  cross-lights  of  S Mrs.  St.  John's  grace 

and  charm  were  nearly  lost.  Even  to  Katherine's  apprehen 
sion,  much  of  her  goddess-ship  slid  off  by  such  rude  contact  ;  and 
Mrs.  St.  John,  though  still  and  ever  the  "  glass  of  fashion," 
sank  down  among  the  approach ables,  and  shared  her  pedestal 
with  several  other  rulers  of  the  hour,  as  well  furnished  as  her 
self  with  all  that  commands  the  lip-homage  of  places  like 

The  amusement  first  proposed  after  Mr.  Ellis's  departure  was 
tableaux,  and  instantly  the  question  arose,  Is  a  tableaux  party 
a  "  party  of  pleasure  ?" 

"  Decidedly  not,"  Mrs.  St.  John  said  ;  "  a  party  of  pleasure 
meant  going  away  somewhere,  while  this  was  to  be  held  within 


THE  ISLAND   STORY.  153 

doors.  A  party  of  pleasure  involved  risks,  quite  out  of  the 
question  in  this  case  ;  and  tableaux  in  particular,  though  rather 
out  of  fashion,  were  so  elegant,  when  properly  (i.  e.  expensive 
ly)  done,  and  so  free  from  all  objection  even  to  the  most  fastidi 
ous,  that  they  could  not  be  included  in  Mr.  Ellis's  prohibition." 

"  It  was  not  prohibition,"  Katherine  said  ;  "it  was  only  ad 
vice." 

"  All  the  same  'thing,  my  dear  !  A  husband's  advice  is  like 
a  royal  invitation — equivalent  to  a  command.  But  as  these  tab  • 
leaux  cannot  possibly  be  construed  into  an  infringement  of  the 

Awful  rule,  supremacy  and  sway, 

that  you  seem  to  think  his  prerogative,  I  hope  you  will  not  re 
fuse  and  so  disoblige  us  all.  It  must  require  an  immense  amount 
of  amiability  to  be  so  submissive !  Happily  for  me,  my  poor 
husband  liked  me  to  be  independent.  He  never  interfered  with 
my  wishes  any  more  than  I  did  with  his .  He  thought  me  quite 
competent  to  judge  for  myself." 

" I  dare  say  you  were  so,"  said  Katherine ;  "I  am  not  so 
sure  with  regard  to  myself." 

"  What  sweet  meekness  !  You  are  really  the  model  wife,  I 
declare  1" 

"  Henry  has  had  so  much  more  experience,"  said  Katherine, 
"  and  his  judgment  is  so  much  better  than  mine,  that  I  always 
feel  bound  to  obey  his  wishes." 

"  Obey  !  oh  dear  1  I  thought  that  word  was  forgotten,  by 
even  the  most  dutiful  wives." 

"  Call  it  what  you  will,"  replied  Katherine,  who  felt  a  little 
mortified  at  having  used  so  old-fashioned  an  expression,  "  I  think 
it  right  to  be  guided  by  his  advice." 


154  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

"  Your  good  aunt  brought  you  up  charmingly,  my  dear,  and 
your  husband  ought  to  be  much  obliged  to  her  for  it.  But  why 
will  you  put  such  things  in  his  head  ?  This  is  the  very  time  to 
establish  your  position  ;  if  you  begin  now — and  of  your  own  ac 
cord — for  I  am  sure  Henry  does  not  desire  it, — to  play  the  child 
towards  him,  you  must  do  it  all  your  life,  for  men  never  yield  an 
inch  once  gained." 

This  idea  of  competition  was  new  to  Katherine,  but  it  did  not 
wholly  displease  her.  Mrs.  St  John  was  so  much  older  than 
herself,  and  had  seen  so  much  of  the  world,  that  her  opinions 
carried  a  sort  of  weight  with  them,  especially  as  they  almost 
always  favored  Katherine's  inclinations.  So  the  tableaux  car 
ried  it,  the  more  easily  as  there  was  a  possibility  that  Ellis  might 
return  before  the  day  proposed. 


"  Here  is  the  list,"  said  Mrs.  St  John,  as  she  came  into  Kath 
erine's  room,  after  breakfast  the  next  morning.  "  'Joan  of  Arc 
in  prison' — (Mrs.  Vandewater  will  take  that,  I  know  ;  her  tall 
masculine  figure  and  black  hair  will  just  do.)  'Buckingham 
and  Fenella' — (that  was  contrived  to  give  a  character  to  Miss 
Pyne — the  great  fortune — she  will  be  magnificently  dressed,  and 
she's  a  dwarf,  you  know  ;)  '  Paul  Clifford  and  his  Companions, 
drinking ' — (that's  for  the  young  men.)  '  Faust  and  Margaret ' 
was  proposed,  but  that's  so  common  now,  you  know — " 

Katherine  had  never  even  heard  of  the  characters. 

"It  isn't  possible!"  Mrs.  St.  John  said.  "Next  comes 
'  Greek  fugitives  after  the  massacre  of  Scio ' — that  will  afford 
opportunity  for  most  picturesque  dresses." 


THE    ISLAND    STORY  155 

"  And  where  are  these  dresses  to  come  from  at  such  short  no 
tice  ?"  asked  Katherine. 

"  Oh,  many  of  us  have  fancy  dresses,  from  former  occasions, 
and  every  body  has  things  that  can  be  altered.  Besides,  many 
elegant  materials  can  be  had  here.  Your  maid  will  easily  make 
up  any  thing  you  will  want." 

"  What  character  is  proposed  for  me  ?" 

"  We  thought  of  the  parting  of  Thekla  and  Max,  in  Wallen- 
stein." 

"  A  parting  !  but  who  would  be  Max  ?" 

"  Mr.  Mansfield — or  indeed  any  of  the  tall  handsome  young 
men — " 

"  0,  indeed  you  must  excuse  me  !"  cried  Katherine,  blushing  ; 
"  any  thing  of  that  kind  would  be  quite  out  of  the  question.  I 
could  not  think  of  it !" 

"  Don't  be  prudish,  my  dear  !  You  have  only  to  stand  in  at1 
titudes,  looking  at  each  other." 

But  Katherine's  natural  sense  of  propriety  had  warned  her, 
and  she  stood  firm  here.  "  You  must  think  of  something  else," 
she  said. 

"  Well,  there  is  '  Exchanging  old  Lamps  for  new  ones  ;'  the 
Princess  giving  Aladin's  lamp  to  the  old  magician  disguised  as 
a  pedler.  That  allows  a  magnificent  Turkish  dress  ;  and  Mr. 
Sandford,  who  has  been  so  many  years  in  the  East,  has  a  book 
of  Oriental  costumes,  and-  can  give  you  every  instruction.  Miss 
Morgan  and  her  faithful  swain,  Mr.  Pratt,  will  be  delighted  to 
do  Max  and  Thekla." 

The  dress  of  unlimited  sumptuousness  decided  Katherine,  who 
undertook  the  Princess  Badroul  Boudour,  and  with  the  aid  of 
Mr.  Sandford's  costumes  and  exquisite  suggestions,  and  the  uim- 


156  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

ble  fingers  of  the  most  invaluable  of  French  maids,  she  was  ar 
rayed  in  robes  of  glory  that  would  have  satisfied  the  Princess 
herself.  Her  dark  hair,  partly  bound  in  a  silver  net,  was  braided 
and  tasselled  with  pearls,  and  her  bosom  covered  with  jewels, 
row  after  row,  till  the  the  last,  with  its  gorgeous  solitaire,  fell 
below  her  waist.  No  glaring  colors  extinguished  the  delicacy 
of  her  complexion.  All  was  white,  except  the  'jelick'  of  rose 
and  silver,  and  a  loose-sleeved  robe  of  soft  purple,  that  gave 
beautiful  relief  to  the  splendors  of  the  rest.  Rich  bracelets,  and 
a  fan  of  white  down,  the  handle  of  which  was  studded  with 
amethysts,  finished  the  costume.  No  wonder  Mrs.  St  John  de 
clared  Katherine  '  lovely  as  a  dream  ;'  no  wonder  Katherine's 
mirror  confirmed  the  sentence. 

Nothing  was  spared  in  the  arrangements.  Practised  hands 
took  care  of  every  particular,  and  not  a  point  was  neglected. 
Soft,  preparative  music  filled  the  intervals  of  darkness  and  an 
ticipation,  and  when  the  curtain  was  withdrawn,  a  fine  manly  voice 
recited  a  few  lines  of  poetry,  dimly  tracing  out  the  sentiment  of 
the  tableau  to  be  announced.  When  the  company  were  placed, 
a  few  notes  from  the  trumpet  commanded  silence.  Wild,  exult 
ing  music,  dying  into  a  wail  of  sorrow,  ushered  in  these  verses  : 

"Heavenly  guardian,  maiden  wonder! 
Long  shall  France  resound  the  day 
When  tliou  earnest,  clad  in  thunder, 
Blasting  thy  tremendous  way." 

And  Joan  of  Arc  was  announced. 

The  light  and  the  darkness  were  so  admirably  managed  that 
the  illusion  was  almost  perfect,  and  as  the  curtain  closed  on  the 
heroic  captive,  kneeling  on  her  straw, — her  hands  crossed  on  her 


THE  ISLAND   STORY.  157 

bosom,  her  long  hair  lying  as  it  were  dead  on  her  shoulders,  and 
her  eyes  upturned  in  prayer, — a  tempest  of  applause  shook  the 
place.  "  Encore  !  Encore  !"  was  the  cry — but  there  were  to 
be  no  encores,  which  are  always  of  questionable  policy  in  tab- 
leaux ;  so  the  trumpet  sounded  and  the  music  went  on  ;  in  a 
strain  half  frolic,  half  sad,  introducing  Buckingham  and  Fe- 
nella — the  courtier  in  a  costume  of  faultless  elegance — the  fairy 
figure  before  him  half  enveloped  in  a  veil  of  silver  gauze,  just 
lifted  by  two  snowy  arms,  so  as  to  show  a  magnificent  dress,  and 
a  very  sweet  face,  not  quite  fiery  enough  for  Fenella's.  This 
picture,  too,  was  very  successful. 

Next   came   Max    and  Thekla — pale,  desolate,  despairing  ; 
with  music  of  Beethoven  and  these  wailing  verses  : 

"A  grief  without  a  pang — void,  dark,  and  drear; 
A  stifled,  death-like,  unimpassioned  grief, 
Which  finds  no  natural  outlet  or  relief 
In  word,  or  sigh,  or  tear. 

The  world  is  empty — the  heart  will  die, 
There's  nothing  to  wish  for  beneath  tho  sky ! 
Thou  Holy  One !  call  thy  child  away  I 
I  have  lived  and  loved  1" 

The  performers  of  this  scene  were  indeed  an  affianced  pair,  kept 
in  long  suspense  by  the  tenacious  vitality  of  some  unhappy  un 
cle  or  aunt,  whose  shoes  they  felt  obliged  to  wait  for ;  so  of 
course  their  personation  of  Max  and  Thekla  gave  rise  to  many 
a  joke — for  to  your  fashionable  joker  nothing  is  sacred.  They 
made  a  very  effective  picture,  but  as  the  subject  forbade  the 
charm  of  dress,  it  fell  rather  coldly  after  the  dazzling  scene  that 
preceded.  A  few  young  lovers  in  their  secret  hearts  felt  its 


158  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

power  by  sympathy  ;  but  the  company  at  large  were  impatient 
for  the  next, — Paul  Clifford  and  his  robber  friends,  carousing. 
This  was  ushered  in  by  no  very  sentimental  strains,  but  by  a 
symphony  that  sounded  very  much  like  the  old  Irish  song, — 
"  Fill  the  bumper  fair  1"  The  poetry  was  evidently  designed  to 
hint  at  some  refinement  of  the  original  idea  of  the  scene  ;  it  is 
hardly  in  the  spirit  of  Paul  Clifford's  carouse  : 

Not  with  a  ray 

Born  where  the  winds  of  Shiraz  play, 
Or  the  fiery  blood  of  the  ripe  Tokay. 

But  wine— bring  wine, 
Flushing  high  with  its  growth  divine, 
In  the  crystal  depths  of  iny  soul  to  shine : 

"Whose  glow  was  caught 

From  the  warmth  which  Fancy's  summer  brought 
To  the  vintage  fields  of  the  Land  of  Thought  1 

Paul  and  his  companions  looked  very  much  at  home,  holding 
up  brimming  glasses  in  various  attitudes,  as  in  the  act  of  echo 
ing  a  toast  or  swelling  a  chorus.  The  scene  was  highly  approved, 
though  one  of  the  spectators  objected  that  it  ought  to  have 
been  shown  through  an  atmosphere  dim  with  cigar  smoke. 

The  '  Greek  Fugitives '  made  a  splendid  scene,  the  dresses 
being  fresh  from  a  fancy  ball  of  the  past  winter. 

The  Princess  Badroul  Boudour  came  next,  beaming  with 
splendors  through  which  shone  the  softer  light  of  her  beauty, 
and  contrasted  artistically  with  the  dai-k  muffled  figure  of  the 
magician,  whose  basilisk  eyes  were  fixed  intensely  on  her  inno 
cent  face.  The  Voice  announced  the  Oriental  vision  thus  : 

Beautiful  are  the  maids  that  glide 

On  summer  eve  through  Yemen's  glades, 
And  bright  the  glancing  looks  they  hido 


THE   ISLAND   STORY.  159 

Beneath  their  litters1  roseate  veils; 
And  brides  as  delicate  and  fair 
As  the  white  jasmine  flowers  they  -wear 
Hath  Teinen  in  her  blissful  climes, 

Who,  lulled  in  cool  kiosk  or  bower 
Before  their  mirrors  count  the  time, 

And  grow  still  lovelier  every  hour. 
Light  as  the  angel-shapes  that  bless 
An  infant's  dream,  yet  not  the  less 
Eich  in  all  woman's  loveliness. 

*  *  *  * 

Vehement  were  the  manifestations  of  admiration  as  the  envi 
ous  curtain  hid  this  exquisite  picture,  and  loud  the  entreaties  for 
one  encore — only  this  one  !  But  this  impartial  rules  forbade, 
and  the  trumpet  drowned  applauses  and  murmurs  in  preparation 
for  tha  next  scene — . 

'  Little  Nell  and  her  Grandfather,'  beautifully  done,  by  a 
lovely  child  and  a  tall,  reverend  figure  stooping  to  her  young 
face  as  if  to  drink  new  life  from  its  superabundance.  After  soft 
music,  the  spirit  of  the  picture  was  foreshadowed  thus  : 

Love,  strong  as  Death,  shall  conquer  Death, 

Through  struggle  made  more  glorious ; 
This  daughter  stills  her  sobbing  breath 

Renouncing,  yet  victorious. 

Behind  the  curtain,  meanwhile,  a  difficulty  had  arisen.  Miss 
Henderson,  who  was  to  personate  '  Calypso  mourning  the  depart 
ure  of  Ulysses,'  was  taken  ill  (only  hysterical,  some  said),  and 
could  not  be  ready,  and  the  exquisite  classic  drapery  which  had 
been  prepared  for  her  was  going  a  begging  for  a  wearer.  It 
was  soon  discovered  that  it  would  fit  nobody  but  Mrs.  Ellis,  if 
she  would  be  "so  good  1  as  to  take  the  trouble  of  dressing 
again — " 


160  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

Katherine  was  very  reluctant,  but  she  had  not  learned  to  say 
no  !  so  she  was  disrobed  and  draped  for  Calypso — a  name 
known  to  her  only  through  the  pages  of  her  school  Telemaque. 

Far  lovelier  than  her  eastern  gorgeousness  was  this  calm,  sim 
ple,  Greek  draping,  relieved  only  by  its  purple  border  and  a 
slender  tiara  of  gold,  binding  the  beauteous  forehead.  The 
legend  ran  thus  : 

Like  a  marble  statue  placed, 
Looking  o'er  the  watery  waste, 

"With  its  white,  fixed  gaze; 
There  this  goddess  sits — her  eye 
Raised  to  the  unpitying  sky  I 

There,  through  weary  days, 
Has  she  asked  of  yonder  main 
Him  it  will  not  bring  again. 

The  last  picture  was  that  beautiful  one  from  Tennyson's 
'  Princess,'  where 

Leaning  deep  in  broidered  down,  tb»,y  sank 
Their  elbows :  on  a  tripod  in  the  midst 
A  fragrant  flame  rose,  and  before  them  glowed 
Fruit,  viand,  blossom,  amber  wine  and  gold. 

Ida,  reclining  among  her  maidens,  asks  for  music, 

And  a  maid 
Of  those  beside  her,  smote  her  harp  and  sang  : 

This  group  was  exquisite,  both  from  the  number  and  grace  of 
the  figures  and  the  perfection  of  the  dresses  and  accessories. 
The  song  came  in  well  as  an  introduction  : 

Tears— Idle  tears — I  known  not  what  they  mean — 
Tears  from  the  depth  of  some  divine  despair-^ 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  161 

Rise  in  the  heart,  and  gather  to  the  eyes, 
In  looking  on  the  happy  autumn  fields, 
And  thinking  of  the  days  that  are  no  more. 
*  *  *  * 

Dear  as  remembered  kisses  after  death, 
And  sweet  as  those  by  hopeless  Fancy  feigned 
On  lips  that  are  for  others ;  deep  as  Love — 
Deep  as  first  Love— and  wild  with  all  regret — 
0  Death  in  Life,  the  days  that  are  no  more. 

The  damsel  with  the  harp  who 

Ended  with  such  passion,  that  the  tear 
She  sang  of  shook  and  fell,  an  erring  pearl, 
Lost  in  her  bosom — 

was  Katherine  again,  whose  classic  Calypso  costume  had  been 
urged  as  a  reason  for  pressing  her  into  this  service,  the  scene  re 
quiring  as  many  characters  as  possible. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  tableaux  the  ball-room  was  thrown 
open,  and  dancing  commenced,  the  characters  of  the  evening 
appearing  in  their  fancy  dresses.  Katherine,  surrounded  by 
admirers,  and  excited  by  the  events  of  the  evening,  was  the 
heroine  of  the  hour.  Her  manner  had  lost  none  of  its  quiet 
ness,  but  the  flush  on  her  cheek  and  the  dazzling  brilliancy  of 
her  eye  confessed  the  intoxicating  power  of  admiration.  Mrs. 
St.  John  fed  the  flame  unweariedly ;  Katherine,  she  declared, 
was  herself  for  the  first  time. 

"  The  world  has  never  known  you  yet,  my  dear  !  You  have 
passed  for  a  pretty  woman  ;  but  hereafter  you  are  stamped  as  a 
beauty.  You  may  do  as  you  like  after  this.  Nothing  too 
lizarre  for  a  beauty  1" 

"  Mrs.  Ellis,  allow  me  to  introduce  one  of  Paul  Clifford's 
11 


162  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

companions,"  said  Eugene  St.  John,  bringing  George  Fountain 
to  his  sister. 

"  George  !"  was  all  that  Katherine  could  say. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  !  why,  you're  not  a  bit  glad  to  see  me  ! 
This  is  giving  a  pleasant  surprise  to  one's  sister  with  a  ven 
geance  !  What  the  deuce  ails  you,  Kate  ?  Afraid  father  Ellis 
won't  like  it,  eh  ?  can't  help  it — he  must  learn." 

"  But  your  promise,  dear  George,"  said  Katherine,  almost  in 
tears.  "  You  promised  positively — " 

"  Oh,  promises  made  under  compulsion  are  not  binding,  you 
know  !  We  have  Paley's  authority  for  that.  When  I  was  in 
the  screws  between  Ellis  and  Mr.  Deane,  I  would  have  prom 
ised  any  thing,  rather  than  be  lectured  any  longer.  But  never 
mind  all  that  1  You  are  splendid  to-night,  I  feel  really  proud 
of  you.  Everybody  is  talking  about  you." 

Katherine  blushed.  "  Hush,  George  !  don't  be  so  foolish. 
You  haven't  told  me  yet  how  you  happened  to  come." 

"  0,  a  bird  of  the  air  carried  the  matter — I  heard  there 
were  to  be  goings-on  here,  and  I  thought  I  would  pop  in  upon 
you.  You  did  not  see  me  at  Paul  Clifford's  table,  did  you  ?" 

"  No — surely — " 

"  I  was  there,  snug  enough,  but  I  sat  back,  for  fear  seeing 
me  unexpectedly  might  confuse  you  when  your  turn  came." 

Katherine's  excitement,  which  had  not  from  the  first  been 
without  a  secret  background  of  uneasiness,  had  reached  its 
height  and  was  at  the  turning-point  when  George  presented 
himself,  and  this  occurrence  hastened  on  the  hour  of  depression  ; 
so  that  when  to  the  world  without  she  seemed  at  the  top  of  her 
triumph,  she  was  in  reality  already  paying  dear  for  it.  She  was 
too  inexperienced  to  know  why,  but  the  events  of  the  evening 


THE   ISLAND  STORY.  16g 

began  now  to  assume  a  different  aspect,  and  she  was  ready  to 
condemn  herself  for  entering  into  the  matter  at  all  during  her 
husband's  absence.  While  envy,  hatred  and  malice  and  all  un- 
charitableness,  were  waked  into  sudden  life  by  her  supposed 
usurpation  of  all  the  honors,  she  went  to  bed  thoroughly  sick 
of  herself  and  every  body  about  her,  and  when  she  arose  in  the 
morning  and  found  that  George  and  his  companions  had  thought 
proper  to  '  make  a  night  of  it' — construing  into  night  all  the 
hours  until  sunrise — she  began  at  once  to  wish  for  her  husband's 
return,  and  to  dread  the  thought  of  his  coming.  She  had 
slightly  mentioned  the  plan  for  tableaux  when  she  wrote  him, 
but  in  his  daily  letter  he  had  not  once  alluded  to  the  subject ; 
and  though  she  had  disregarded  this  silent  objection,  which  she 
nevertheless  understood,  yet  in  the  retrospect  it  made  her  un 
happy.  So  powerful  an  influence  had  the  firm  and  manly  char 
acter  of  Ellis  established  already  in  the  mind  of  his  young  wife, 
in  the  midst  of  boundless  indulgence. 


Two  days  longer  elapsed  before  Mr,  Ellis  returned — quite  long 
enough  to  allow  the  tableaux  party  to  have  ripened  its  fruit  of 
scandal,  misunderstanding  and  endless  t:ttle-tattle.  First  of  all 
was  the  story  of  a  miserable  scene  of  debauch,  in  which  George 

Fountain,  who  had  been  attracted  to  S by  the  tableaux,  was 

the  head  and  front,  and  next  came  a  furious  enmity  on  the  part 
of  Miss  Henderson  against  all  and  several  who  had  been  acces 
sory  to  the  transfer  of  her  part  of  Calypso  Ao  Mrs.  Ellis.  She 
was  "  perfectly  well — only  a  little  agitated — and  would  have  been 
ready  in  a  few  moments,  when  Mrs.  St.  John  and  Mrs.  Preston 


164  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

seized  the  opportunity  and  the  excuse  to  thrust  Mrs.  Ellis  into  it ! 
And  Mrs.  Ellis  was  very  ready  to  consent, — not  satisfied  with 
having  the  most  magnificent  dress  of  all  for  her  own  character, 
she  must  snatch  at  the  classic  one  too  !  the  thing  was  too  plain  1" 
And  a  considerable  party  of  gossips  of  no  particular  charming- 
ness  took  part  with  the  injured  damsel. 

On  the  other  hand  the  war  was  maintained  none  the  less 
keenly  that  the  party  most  concerned  refrained  from  all  share  in 
it.  It  was  said  that  envy  or  jealousy  of  the  Princess  Badroul 
Boudour  was  the  soul  cause  of  Miss  Henderson's  hysterics,  and 
that  she  would  have  controlled  them  if  she  had  thought  any  one 
else — above  all  Mrs.  Ellis — would  be  found  to  take  her  place,  as 
that  baffled  her  plan  of  creating  a  sensation  by  the  omission  of 
one  of  the  scenes  promised  in  the  programme — etc. 

As  this  was  the  only  quarrel  that  concerned  our  heroine,  we 
omit  specification  of  the  rest,  but  they  were  many. 

Mrs.  St.  John  in  vain  endeavored  to  persuade  Katherine  to 
be  very  guarded  in  her  account  of  matters  to  her  husband,  and 
above  all  to  conceal  from  him  the  visit  and  disgrace  of  George 
Fountain.  The  first  mention  of  the  subject  brought  a  rush  of 
tears  to  the  young  wife's  eyes,  and  she  forstalled  the  grave  ob 
jections  she  sometimes  dreaded,  by  giving  her  husband  a  full 
history  of  the  affair  from  beginning  to  end,  and  taking  shame 
and  blame  to  herself  for  having  been  induced  to  appear  in  so 
public  a  way  without  his  presence  for  her  shield  and  safety. 
Mrs.  St.  John,  whose  ideas  on  some  points  were,  like  those  of 
many  persons  of  her  stamp,  more  vulgar  than  she 'fancied, 
was  shocked  to  hear  Katherine  say,  weeping — "  I  will  never  do 
so  again,  Henry — never  1"  It  was  so  childish !  she  said,  but 
Mr.  Ellis  thought  it  most  womanly  ;  and  he  felt  that  his  wife 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  165 

had  never  looked  lovelier  than  when,  with  gentle  eyes  overflow 
ing,  she  thus  threw  herself  upon  his  tenderness,  and  owned  her 
need  of  aid  and  counsel,  in  matters  which,  to  coarser  apprehen 
sions,  might  have  seemed  to  need  none.  And  when,  as  new 
scandals  had  their  fungous  growth  out  of  the  first,  her  delicacy 
received  still  deeper  wounds,  through  cruel  imputations  and  the 
insinuations  of  malicious  tongues,  and  she  begged  her  husband 
to  take  her  from  a  scene  which  had  now  and  forever  lost  all  its 
charm  for  her,  he  blessed  the  seeming  chance  which  had  brought 
about  this  salutary  lesson — a  lesson  which  had  done  more  to 
wards  unveiling  to  Katherine  the  real  spirit  of  the  society  in 
which  she  had  been  ambitious  to  move,  than  whole  homilies  of 
advice  and  warning  from  her  best  friends  could  have  clone. 
There  are  no  lessons  like  those  we  give  ourselves. 

In  case  our  readers  should  feel  any  interest  in  the  after  fate 
of  the  Miss  Henderson  who  figures  somewhat  conspicuously  in 
the  present  chapter,  we  may  mention,  in  passing,  that  not  long 
after  the  wounding  of  that  young  lady's  feelings  by  Mrs.  Ellis, 
Mr.  Ellis  observed  in  the  papers  a  notice  of  her  marriage  to  his 
old  friend  Davidson,  who,  in  his  speculations  in  matrimony  had 
made  it  a  point  that  his  wife  should  be 

"  Not  radiant  to  a  stranger's  eye — 
A  creature  easily  posited  by" 


Miss  Ingoldsby  would  not  stay  to  hear  the  criticisms  on  her 
chapter,  but  ran  away  as  soon  as  it  was  finished.  Perhaps  she 
was  ashamed  of  having  made  public  her  idea  of  wifely  duty. 

"  Good  advice,"  said  Mr.  Shelton. 

"  Fine  talk  1"  old  Mr.  Ingoldsby  muttered,  to  disguise  the 
pleasure  he  felt. 


166  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

The  lot,  now  much  narrowed,  fell  this  time  to  Mrs.  Whipple, 
who  declared  she  had  never  written  a  Hue  in  her  life,  but  if  Miss 
Berry  would  help  her — 

"Let  us  be  rural,  this  time,"  said  that  lady  ;  "I  am  tired  of 
artificial  life." 

Here  is  the  chapter  : 

LIFE'S  LESSONS. 

Henceforth  I  shall  know 
That  Nature  ne'er  deserts  the  wise  and  pnra 
No  plot  so  narrow,  be  but  Nature  there, 
No  waste  so  vacant,  but  may  well  employ 
Each  faculty  of  sense,  and  keep  the  heart 
Awake  to  Love  and  Beauty. 

Piercefield  was  a  little,  commonplace,  country  village,  boast 
ing  few  people  of  any  pretension  to  cultivation,  but  situated  in 
a  romantically  beautiful  part  of  the  country,  where,  if  any 
where,  Nature  might  be  considered  as  making  amends  for  the 
want  of  a  more  attractive  human  interest.  Mr.  Dudley,  the 
brother-in-law  of  Henry  Ellis,  had  a  large  farm  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  village  ;  a  farm  so  large  that  it  absorbed  all  its  own  pro 
ceeds  year  by  year,  since  the  only  way  to  make  it  at  all  profita 
ble  was  to  cultivate  it  upon  a  large  scale.  This,  in  a  region 
where  domestic  service  is  considered  a  degradation,  involved  a 
most  onerous  amount  of  care  and  labor  on  the  part  of  the  mis 
tress,  a  devoted  wife  and  mother,  who  had  thrown  herself  wholly 
into  her  husband's  plans,  and  sacrificed  herself  to  the  rebuilding 
of  his  fortune  and  credit  without  reserve.  Katherine  found 
Mrs.  Dudley  a  woman  still  in  the  prime  of  life  ;  past  the  dewy 
freshness  of  her  beauty,  but  hardly  less  lovely  in  its  maturity. 
The  principal  charm  of  her  face  to  the  common  observer  was 


THE   ISLAND  STORY.  167 

A  smile  that  turns  the  sunny  side  o'  the  heart 
On  all  the  world,  as  if  herself  did  win 
By  what  she  lavished — 

but  there  was  a  depth  of  expression  behind  that  smile  such  as 
belongs  to  a  strong  character  only. 

This  lovely,  equable  temper  and  these  cheerful  spirits  were 
very  necessary  to  Mr.  Dudley,  who,  though  a  man  of  sense,  had 
been  so  depressed  by  misfortune  that  it  required  resolution  of 
the  strongest  wing  to  bear  him  up.  The  children  looked  up  to 
their  father  with  reverence,  but  they  ran  to  their  mother  with 
love  and  confidence  ;  the  whole  vitality  of  the  house  seemed  to 
flow  from  that  one  gracious  source. 

It  will  readily  be  understood  in  what  light  such  a  sister  would 
be  regarded  by  Henry  Ellis,  himself  so  warm,  true,  and  good  ; 
of  such  a  sunny  temper  and  such  purity  of  intent.  They  met, 
after  long  separation,  with  a  tenderness  that  only  the  good  and 
true  can  feel  ;  each  looked  into  the  other's  eyes  with  the  sense 
of  a  whole  life's  love  and  memory  ;  and  after  a  moment's  inquir 
ing  pause — one  thought  of  the  possible  effect  of  those  dividing 
years, — the  recognition  and  the  union  were  perfect — 

As  when  two  dew-drops  on  the  petal  shake 
To  the  same  air,  and  tremble  deeper  down, 
And  slip  at  once,  all  fragrant,  into  one. 

Katherine,  very  susceptible  of  all  extraneous  influences,  soon 
felt  the  power  of  this  one — of  goodness  dignified  by  elegant 
manners  and  high  cultivation.  The  behavior  of  Mrs.  Dudley 
under  the  most  irksome  duties,  was  a  daily  lesson  as  well  as  a 
secret  marvel  to  our  young  and  over-indulged  wife.  How  such 
a  woman — full  of  all  elegant  tastes  and  capacities — formed  to 


168  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

shine  in  the  most  refined  society — could  bring  herself  to  perform 
cheerfully  the  least  attractive  household  labors  ;  to  endure  the 
most  vulgar  and  stolid  minds  about  her,  and  to  toil,  conscien 
tiously  and  without  the  appearance  of  disgust,  for  the  improve 
ment  of  even  the  least  hopeful  subjects,  was  indeed  wonderful ; 
in  any  country  but  ours  it  could  hardly  seem  unaffected.  She 
was  a  woman  able  and  willing  to  "  die  daily  "  to  all  she  prized 
of  outward  grace,  living  all  the  while  the  richest  and  most 
precious  life  within  herself,  and  giving  it  out,  without  stint,  in 
blessing  all  around  her.  Katherine,  who  knew  little  of  any  but 
town  life,  felt  herself  in  a  new  and  strange  school,  and  betook 
herself  to  the  requisite  study,  very  conscientiously. 

Mr.  Dudley  was  a  man  of  many  virtues,  but  also  of  a  great, 
though  unconscious  selfishness.  Whatever  his  wife  did  for  him 
or  for  others  seemed  to  him  no  more  than  her  duty,  because  it 
accorded  with  her  whole  character  ;  whatever  he  himself  did 
that  was  commendable  had  its  full  value  in  his  eyes,  to  say  the 
least,  perhaps  from  a  secret  consciousness  of  the  effort  it  cost 
him  to  be  generous  in  a  single  instance.  When  two  such  cha 
racters  as  his  meet  in  matrimony,  the  friction  ends  in  consuming 
flames,  each  claiming  what  the  other  is  least  willing  to  grant  ; 
but  where  the  selfishness  of  one  is  met  by  boundless  generosity 
in  the  other,  there  is  fitting  like  that  of  the  cast  to  the  mould — 
sharp  points  at  one  side  finding  suitable  recessions  on  the  oppos 
ite.  No  pair  could  be  better  matched — on  this  principle — than 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dudley  ;  and  Henry  Ellis,  while  he  saw  his 
brother-in-law's  faults,  had  the  satisfaction  of  thinking  his  sister 
very  happy.  She  felt  that  she  was  born  "  not  to  be  ministered 
unto,  but  to  minister  ;"  and  she  accepted  her  lot  with  wonderful 
satisfaction. 


THE  ISLAND   STORY.  169 

So,  too,  the  life  they  led  at  Piercefield  seemed,  to  his  better 
regulated  judgment,  one  of  great  respectability  and  usefulness, 
instead  of  a  mere  loss  and  burial,  as  Katherine  called  it.  Their 
fortune,  moderate  as  it  was,  and  requiring  the  strictest  economy, 
was  much  superior  to  that  of  their  neighbors  ;  their  cultivation 
and  refinement,  and  of  course  their  resources,  infinitely  greater. 
Their  influence,  therefore,  was  powerful  for  good,  even  though 
the  people  about  them  did  not  willingly  defer  to  them.  There 
is,  unhappily,  in  the  ruder  portions  of  this  land  of  liberty  of 
ours,  an  aversion  to  superiority  of  any  kind — especially  to  that 
of  mind  and  manners  ;  but  as  Providence  has  made  the  influ 
ence  of  such  superiority  inevitable,  it  tells  on  even  the  most 
ungracious  subjects.  Then  Mrs.  Dudley's  extreme  kindness  of 
heart  and  manner  ;  her  devotion  to  the  sick  and  suffering  ;  her 
generous  disposition,  and  the  simplicity  with  which  she  was 
content  to  live,  made  her,  personally,  very  popular,  and  gave 
the  greatest  force  to  her  kind  hints  and  suggestions  of  improve 
ment.  Without  the  harshness  of  Mrs.  Mason,  in  the  "  Cottag 
ers  of  Glenburnie,"  so  long  the  type  of  the  lady  Mentor  in  low 
and  coarse  life, — who  is  described  as  saying  the  rudest  things  iu 
her  zeal  to  make  people  polite, — Mrs.  Dudley  contrived,  in  a 
thousand  ways,  to  contribute  to  the  civilization  of  all  who  came 
in  her  way,  principally  by  example,  but  also  by  precept,  when 
she  could  contrive  to  soften  the  implied  reproof  by  a  tangible 
benefit.  To  fill  a  place  like  this,  an  instinct  for  doing  good 
must  come  in  aid  of  principle  ;  for  daily  and  hourly  occasion  for 
the  exercise  of  a  benevolence  which  seems  small  but  is  great, 
would  weary  any  thing  but  instinct. 

Katherine,  however,  could  hardly  help  looking  upon  such  a 
life  as  that  of  Mrs.  Dudley  with  pity — almost  horror.     So  con- 


HO  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

trary  was  it  to  her  own  cherished  ideal  of  luxurious  ease,  so 
unsuited  to  the  delicacy  and  refinement  of  her  sister-in-law,  that 
she  soon  began  to  return,  by  a  natural  revulsion,  to  her  old 
ideas  of  fashionable  life.  The  very  morning  after  the  arrival  of 
the  city  visitors,  as  the  family  sat  at  breakfast,  an  ill-looking 
man,  rough  as  Hyrcanian  bear,  came  in,  and  with  his  hat  on 
and  an  air  of  perfect  nonchalance,  demanded  rather  than  asked, 
some  medicine  or  salve  which  Mrs.  Dudley  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  supplying  to  his  wife,  signifying  at  the  same  time  that 
he  was  in  a  hurry  and  could  not  wait  a  minute.  Mrs.  Dudley 
left  her  guests  and  attended  to  his  wants  immediately,  as  if  it 
had  been  the  most  natural  and  reasonable  thing  in  the  world — 
a  proceeding  which  brought  Mrs.  Dibble  and  the  vexations  of 
the  Christmas  dinner  to  our  young  wife's  mind.  She  soon 
found,  however,  that  this  was  the  rule,  not  the  exception,  and 
that  Mrs.  Dudley  was  in  the  habit  of  sacrificing  her  own  pleas 
ure,  unreservedly,  to  the  necessities  of  her  poorer  neighbors. 
On  one  of  these  occasions  she  could  not  help  saying — "I  should 
think  you  would  teach  these  people  better  manners  by  letting 
them  wait  a  little.  One  would  suppose  they  thought  they  were 
doing  you  a  favor  when  they  ask  one." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Mrs.  Dudley,  "  they  never  forget  a 
kindness.  What  seems  to  you  rude  carelessness,  is  often  real, 
pressing  haste,  or  only  bashfulness,  which  their  pride  makes  them 
anxious  to  conceal.  They  are  unwearied  when  we  are  ill." 

One  morning  a  charming  ride  had  been  planned — the  horses 
were  standing  saddled  at  the  door,  and  Katherine  and  Mrs. 
Dudley,  both  fully  equipped  en  Amazone,  and  full  of  animation, 
were  about  to  set  foot  in  hand  for  mounting,  when  a  message 
came  from  a  poor  woman  a  mile  off,  saying  that  her  baby  was 


THE   ISLAND    STORY.  l%l 

very,  very  ill,  and  she  hoped  Mrs.  Dudley  would  come  and 
see  it. 

"  Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Dudley,  "  poor  Mrs.  Green  !  another  of  her 
little  sufferers  with  water  on  the  brain,  I  dare  say.  Of  course 
nothing  can  save  it,  but  I  cannot  refuse  to  go  where  my  mere 
presence  will  give  so  much  comfort.  You  will  excuse  me,  dear 
Katherine,  I  know,  though  you  cannot  share  my  sympathy  with 
the  mother,  not  having  seen  her  former  distress  on  these  occa 
sions." 

So  saying  she  went  quietly  to  change  her  dress  ;  her  horse 
was  put  up,  and  the  party  went  without  her. 

Another  time,  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  Mrs.  Dudley 
said — "  This  day  shall  be  yours  !  I  have  put  aside  or  disposed 
of  every  thing  that  could  interrupt  us,  and  we  will  have  one 
day's  solid,  home  enjoyment — always  provided,"  she  added, 
checking  herself,  "  that  no  poor  soul  has  to  be  nursed.  But  I 
do  not  know  of  any  illness  in  the  neighborhood.  We  will  have 
such  a  nice  time  1" 

A  new  book  brought  by  Mr.  Ellis  was  to  be  the  groundwork 
of  this  nice  time,  and  the  ladies  with  their  sewing  sat  down  to 
enjoy  it,  while  Mr.  Dudley  kept  himself  as  quiet  as  he  could, 
not  going  out  of  the  room  about  some  farm-care  more  than  once 
in  ten  or  fifteen  minutes.  The  air  was  delicious  ;  a  window 
opening  on  the  garden  afforded  the  prospect  of  a  flowery  world, 
and  admitted  its  perfume  ;  the  birds  were  singing  as  if  there 
were  neither  sin  nor  sorrow  on  earth. 

"  I  really  envy  you,  Eliza,"  said  Ellis,  stopping  to  enjoy  the 
scene.  "  There  is  something  in  these  aspects  of  nature  that 
fills  my  mind  with  an  indescribable  calm,  and  I  cannot  help  fan 
cying  that  one  might  here  possess  one's  soul  in  quiet,  in  a  sense 


112  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

hardly  to  be  expected  in  the  city.  Rural  sights  and  sounds  like 
these  have  an  effect  on  my  whole  being — " 

"  Is  Miss  Dudley  at  home  ?"  said  a  voice  in  the  entry,  not  ru 
ral  exactly  but  rustic — and  in  walked  a  lady  and  her  little  girl, 
to  spend  the  day. 

Here  was  a  trial  1  No  saying  '  engaged '  or  '  not  at  home ' ; 
no  guarding  the  avenues  and  looking  over  the  banisters  1 

Mrs.  Dudley  received  the  intruders  so  kindly  that  Katherine 
almost  concluded  she  must  be  perfectly  indifferent  to  home  com 
fort.  The  elder  visitor  took  out  her  knitting,  and  the  little  girl 
asked  for  something  to  eat.  The  carpet  was  soon  strewn  with 
fragments  of  bread  and  butter.  This,  too,  Mrs.  Dudley  bore 
with  equanimity,  and  even  Katherine  could  not  imagine  it  was 
because  she  was  indifferent  to  neatness. 

The  good  lady  began  telling  Mrs.  Dudley  the  history  of  her 
troubles.  Mr.  Ellis  and  Mr.  Dudley  walked  out.  Katherine 
soon  fell  asleep  in  her  arm  chair  near  the  window.  When  she 
awoke,  the  guest  was  still  droning  on,  weeping  occasionally  ; 
Mrs.  Dudley  all  attention  and  sympathy. 

"Who  could  have  given  your  son  such  bad  advice,  Mrs. 
Smith  ?"  she  was  saying,  just  as  Katherine  awoke  ;  and  Mrs. 
Smith  began,  nothing  loth,  on  a  new  chapter  of  accidents.  The 
little  girl  was  meanwhile  amusing  herself  drumming  on  the 
piano. 

Katherine  retreated  to  her  room.  "  One  must  require  no  little 
obtuseness,"  she  soliloquized,  "  to  endure  such  inflictions.  Some 
people  have  no  sensitiveness  1" 

After  a  while  Mrs.  Dudley  came  to  her.  "  Come  down  now, 
dear,"  she  said,  "  poor  Mrs.  Smith  has  gone  to  lie  down  awhile. 
The  recital  of  her  troubles  has  quite  overcome  her,  although  it 


THE    ISLAND    STORY.  173 

is  a  great  comfort  to  her  to  find  a  listener.  Her  lot  has  been  a 
peculiarly  hard  one.  She  has  been  a  willing  martyr  to  her  sou's 
children — two  or  three  helpless  little  girls  under  the  care  of  a 
very  bad  step-mother,  who,  having  one  child  of  her  own,  seems 
to  desire  nothing  so  much  as  to  be  rid  of  the  others.  If  Mrs. 
Smith  had  a  home  to  take  them  to,  she  would  gladly  relieve  the 
cruel  woman  of  the  burden  ;  but  her  son  has  spent  all  her  prop 
erty,  and  she  can  live  nowhere  but  with  him,  although  his  affec 
tions  are  totally  alienated  from  her.  She  could  support  herself, 
but  not  without  leaving  the  children  to  their  fate,  which  she  can 
not  think  of.  The  greatest  earthly  comfort  she  has  left  is  an 
occasional  hour  of  talk  with  me,  recounting  the  sad  circumstan 
ces  of  her  darlings,  and  asking  advice  in  ever  new  difficulties  oc 
casioned  by  the  manoeuvres  of  an  unprincipled  and  selfish  wo 
man.  One  of  the  children  is  deaf  and  dumb,  and  on  that  ac 
count  the  object  of  especial  dislike  to  the  step-mother,  and  solici 
tude  to  the  grandmother.  I  am  sorry  she  happened  to  choose 
to-day,  dear,  but  I  could  not  refuse  to  give  her  what  little  conso 
lation  is  in  my  power." 

Katherine's  secret  indignation  against  Mrs.  Smith's  trouble 
some  troubles  was  a  little  softened  by  this  exposition,  and  when 
the  story  was  repeated  to  her  husband  his  interest  was  immedi 
ately  excited.  He  caused  himself  to  be  introduced  to  Mr  Smith, 
who  was  not  so  much  a  bad-hearted  man  as  weakly  under  the 
influence  of  a  bad  woman. 

After  conversing  awhile  with  this  blinded  father,  Mr.  Ellis 
took  occasion  to  speak  of  the  little  deaf-mute,  and  to  urge  her 
being  placed  at  the  Institution,  as  the  means  of  making  her  use 
ful  and  happy.  At  first  Smith  quite  scouted  the  idea,  especially 
on  account  of  the  expense  ;  but  a  little  more  talk  on  the  part 


174  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

of  Mr.  Ellis  induced  him  to  listen  with  favor  to  the  plan.  And 
when  the  rich  man  from  town  offered  himself  to  take  charge  of 
the  little  girl,  to  place  her  at  the  Institution,  watch  over  her 
welfare  and  see  that  she  wanted  for  nothing,  even  the  stepmother 
was  somewhat  mollified,  and  the  matter  easily  arranged.  Our 
respect  for  the  humblest  is  immediately  increased  by  finding  them 
cared  for  by  important  people. 

"  How  glad  I  am,  now,  that  poor  Mrs.  Smith  happened  to 
come  while  you  were  here  !"  said  Mrs.  Dudley.  "I  might  never 
have  thought  to  mention  her  troubles  to  you,  Henry.  One  is  so 
apt  to  be  absorbed  by  one's  own  affairs." 

So  large  a  part  of  the  grandmother's  solicitude  was  now  re 
moved,  that  she  was  like  a  new  creature  the  next  time  she  called. 
The  younger  children  could  get  along  comparatively  well,  she 
said,  and  the  fact  that  the  elder  was  under  the  protection  of 
Mr.  Ellis,  had  already  wrought  a  change  in  the  household, 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Dudley,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Smith,  "  a  blessing  always 
follows  you  !  No  wonder  you  always  seem  so  happy  !" 

To  Henry  Ellis  his  sister  appeared  so  beautiful,  and  the  uses 
she  made  of  ber  difficult  position  so  dignified  and  excellent,  that 
he  could  not  help  hoping  that  Katherine,  under  the  influence  of 
such  a  life  and  character,  would  catch  some  new  light  on  her 
own  path  and  its  true  end.  If  Mrs.  Dudley  had  been  deficient 
in  outward  graces,  he  well  knew  disgust  would  have  superseded 
conviction.  Katherine  revolted  so  against  whatever  was  not 
beautiful,  that  no  amount  or  tone  of  worth  could  interest  her,  if 
accompanied  by  coarseness  of  manners  and  habits.  But-  even 
here,  where  the  beautiful  harmony  of  real  delicacy  with  great 
sacrifice  of  personal  tastes,  in  a  way  of  life  that  would  never  be 
chosen  as  the  ideal  home  of  delicacy,  were  exhibited  in  perfec- 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  175 

tion,  Mrs.  Ellis,  still  fascinated  by  the  outward,  felt  something 
more  nearly  allied  to  horror  than  admiration.  She  saw,  indeed, 
the  beauty  and  the  virtue,  and  not  with  indifference,  or  wholly 
without  profit ;  but  her  heart  secretly  longed  for  scenes  like 
some  of  those  she  had  lived  in  since  her  marriage,  and  of  which  the 
charm  had  not  yet  been  exhausted.  Spite  of  the  admiration 
and  love  she  could  not  but  feel  for  her  sister-in-law,  and  her 
sense  of  new  light  from  many  things  she  had  seen  and  heard, 
she  Was  quite  as  glad  to  quit  Piercefield  as  she  had  been  to  es 
cape  from  S ,  and  when  her  husband  expressed  himself  with 

enthusiasm  on  the  subject  of  Mrs.  Dudley's  character  and  useful 
ness,  he  was  pained  to  discover  that  the  disagreeables  of  coun 
try  life  were  alone  prominent  in  her  mind.  He  took  pains  to 
bring  her  to  a  juster  estimate  of  the  value  and  true  pleasure  of 
life,  by  placing  side  by  side  some  of  the  trials  of  city  and  coun 
try  life  ;  recalling  the  coarse  and  cruel  things  she  herself  had 
noticed  among  people  of  great  pretension  to  polish  and  cultiva 
tion  ;  the  grudging  charity,  the  contrasted  prodigality  and 
meanness,  the  heartless  neglect  and  avoidance  of  poor  relations 
which  is  but  too  general  among  the  prosperous  ;  the  self-seeking 
hospitality,  the  hollow  friendship,  the  keen  rivalry — all  that 
rankles  and  festers  under  the  gilded  surface  of  town  life, 
— but  with  little  avail.  Katherine  persisted  in  thinking  all 
this  tolerable,  in  preference  to  the  outward  coarseness  of  the 
country. 

"One  can  be  virtuous  in  town,"  she  said,  "but  I,  at  least, 
could  not  be  happy  in  the  country." 

"  It  is  only  an  abstract  question,"  her  husband  replied  ;  "  a 
question  whether  a  life  whose  main  object  is  personal  indulgence 
and  enjoyment  is  the  most  beautiful,  dignified  and  happy  life — " 


H6  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

"  I  do  not  know — I  am  no  heroine — I  am  willing  to  take  the 
risks  and  disadvantages  of  a  life  of  elegance  and  ease,"  said 
Katherine,  "  and  leave  self-denial  to  those  who  like  it !  I 
should  be  wretched  to  live  as  your  sister  does." 

"  You  forget  that  her  way  of  life  is  her  own  free  choice — her 
offer  of  aid  in  retrieving  her  husband's  affairs.  Doesn't  it  seem 
to  you  that  any  life  acquires  dignity  under  such  circumstances  ? 
Would  my  sister  appear  more  '  lady-like,'  in  your  eyes,  if  she 
had  come  with  her  children  to  my  house,  as  I  invited  her  to  do, 
while  her  husband  underwent  alone  the  toils  and  sacrifices  neces 
sary  for  the  re-establishment  of  his  fortune  ?  I  cannot  believe 
it !  Her  true  character  never  made  itself  known  until  adversi 
ty  laid  bare  its  roots.  She  might  have  passed  for  a  merely 
elegant  woman,  if  Providence  had  not  brought  her  to  the  test." 

Katherine  was  silenced,  if  not  convinced. 


After  this  chapter  was  read,  Mrs.  Whipple  said — "  I  need 
not  tell  you  that  I  didn't  write  it." 

Miss  Berry  sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor. 

"  I  thought,"  said  Mr.  Ingoldsby,  "  that  such  high-flying  sen 
timents  hardly  sounded  like  you,  Mrs.  Whipple  !  You  '  love 
the  sweet  security  of  streets,'  and  would  find  yourself  as  little 
able  to  appreciate  the  charms  of  country  life  as  I  should,  I  dare 
say.  But  who  is  to  come  next  ?" 

Only  Miss  Grove  and  Mr.  Aldis  remained,  and  as  they  had 
taken  the  opportunity  of  the  rest  being  engaged  with  the  story 
to  fall  desperately  in  love  with  each  other, — contrary  to  all  the 
statutes, — any  help  from  them  was  out  of  the  question.  They 
begged  off,  and  it  was  at  last  decided  that  the  sketch  should  be 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  177 

finished  as  best  it  might,  by  the  general  contribution  and  con 
sultation  of  those  who  began  it. 

"  Only  make  it  very  moral — "  said  Mr.  Ingoldsby,  with  a 
comical  grimace — 

"  Now  father,  you  are  too  bad  1"  said  Elinor  ;  "  you  know  it 
was  begun  with  the  express  purpose  of  making  it  hold  all  our 
wise  saws — " 

"  I  can  tell  you,"  said  her  father,  "  if  you  'rush  into  print' 
the  world  will  only  laugh  at  your  Utopian  notions." 

"  Then  the  world  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  itself  1"  said  Miss 
Elinor. 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD. 

God  bends  from  out  the  depth  and  says — 

'  I  gave  thee  the  great  gift  of  life ; 
Wast  thou  not  called  in  many  ways  ? 

Are  not  my  earth  and  heaven  atstrife? 
I  gave  thee  of  my  seed  to  bow, 

Bringest  thou  me  my  hundred-fold?' 
Can  I  look  up,  with  face  aglow, 

And  answer — '  Father,  here  is  gold'? 

George  Fountain,  recalled  to  town  by  the  illness  of  Mr- 
Deane,  was  now  always  at  his  sister's  side  with  suggestions  as  to 
what  was  proper  or  desirable — suggestions  which  referred  to 
the  notions  of  the  gay  young  men — ('  whom  call  we  gay  ?  The 
innocent  are  gay ' — )  the  gay  young  men  with  whom  he  associ 
ated.  George's  favorite  word  of  commendation  was  '  Noble  1' 
a  dangerous  word  unless  we  fix  its  signification  very  accurately  ; 
his  invariable  epithet  of  condemnation  '  Mean  !'  a  term  quite  as 
often  misapplied  by  the  thoughtless.  His  taste  ruled  his  sister's 

more  than  was  wise  or  fitting,  his  position  as  one  of  the  oracles 
12 


178  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

of  fashion  giving  him  peculiar  power  on  Katherine's  weak  side. 
His  feelings  were  congenial  with  her  own  ;  his  views  of  life 
more  generous  and  elegant  than  any  one's,  in  her  estimation. 
The  orphan  fellow-feeling  that  had  united  them  so  closely  during 
early  life,  Katherine's  marriage  had  done  nothing  to  loosen,  for 
Ellis's  extreme  kindness  of  heart  and  boundless  regard  for  his 
wife  had  induced  him  rather  to  promote  than  discourage  the 
intimacy.  Now,  however,  he  was  sometimes  pained  to  observe 
that  where  his  views  and  George's  happened  to  differ,  as  they 
often  did,  the  latter's  were  sure  to  prevail  with  Katherine  ; 
George  taught  her  what  to  require  and  what  to  refuse  ;  his 
opinion  of  her  husband's  plans  and  proceedings  was  the  guide 
of  hers.  George  could  even  make  the  solid  and  principled  gen 
erosity  of  his  brother-in-law  appear  meanness,  when  he  chose  to 
contrast  it  with  the  lavish  expenditure  of  people  of  similar  for 
tune.  It  is  not  wonderful  that  this  state  of  things  appeared  in 
different  lights  to  Katherine  and  her  husband.  He  judged  as  a 
man,  she  felt  as  an  idol,  whose  right  it  was  to  receive  as  offer 
ing  all  that  was  precious,  incurring  no  responsibility  in  return. 

This  is  no  uncommon  phase  of  young  wifehood,  but  a  grave 
Mentor  might  remind  the  worshipped  that  the  position  of  an 
idol  is  hardly  consistent  with  the  more  honorable  one  of  a  duti 
ful  and  true  wife,  Love's  figures  of  speech  to  the  contrary  not 
withstanding.  The  wise  bride  soon  steps  gracefully  down  from 
the  pedestal  where  she  stood  properly  enough  for  awhile,  to  find 
more  secure  and  dignified  footing  nearer  her  husband's  heart  of 
hearts — that  deeper  and  more  serious  heart  which  poets  may  not 
sing  about,  but  which  a  man  gives  to  his  duties,  his  responsibil 
ities,  his  hopes  and  resolutions  for  time  and  eternity.  It  is  in 
•jlose  contact  and  communion  with  this  that  a  wife  must  stand, 


THE   ISLAND  STORY.  179 

if  she  would  realize  the  ancient  symbol  of  two  hearts  pierced 
through  with  one  and  the  same  arrow.  Flowery  bands  there 
may  be,  and  the  more  the  better  ;  but  the  arrow  must  be  of 
steel. 

Mary  Ashmore's  wedding  gave  occasion  to  new  differences  of 
opinion  between  Mrs.  Ellis  and  her  husband — differences  gently 
urged  on  his  part,  but  tenaciously  adhered  to  on  hers.  Kathe- 
rine's  affection  for  her  cous'n  naturally  showed  itself  in  expen 
sive  g'fts  ;  she  felt  no  hesitation  in  suggesting  what  would  be 
desirable,  because  she  stood  ready  to  supply  whatever  Aunt 
Susan  decided  to  be  beyond  her  means.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ash- 
more  shook  their  heads  at  this  ;  they  disapproved  it  and  it 
troubled  them  ;  but  it  was  one  of  the  hardest  things  in  the 
world  to  resist.  Ellis,  too,  remonstrated. 

"Proportion,  dearest  Kate,"  he  said,  "is  an  element  of 
beauty.  Do  not  fancy  that  I  object  to  the  cost  of  what  you 
are  doing  for  Mary  ;  I  desire  only  to  see  more  reference  to  her 
past  habits  and  her  probable  lot  in  life.  She  will  be  obliged  to 
content  herself  with  a  plain  and  economical  style  of  living, 
which  I  fear  will  seem  only  the  plainer  for  these  gay  gifts  of 
yours.  I  would  give  her  an  equal  amount — you  and  I  can 
never  do  enough  for  your  aunt  and  her  family — but  let  it  be  in 
some  more  suitable,  if  not  useful  form."  . 

Katherine  did  not  relish  this,  although  Ellis  backed  his  re- 
monstrance  with  a  handsome  gift  in  money  to  Mary  from  him 
self. 

"  You  want  me  to  be  as  wise  as  yourself,  Henry,"  she  said. 
"  Every  body  gives  elegant  bridal  gifts,  now.  A  bride  really 
appears  forlorn  who  has  not  splendid  gifts  and  a  rich  trousseau 
to  show.  Mary  is  too  sensible  a  girl  to  suppose  it  is  to  be 


180  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

always  so  ;  do  let  me  indulge  myself  in  getting  her  a  few  pretty 
things — perhaps  the  last  she  may  have,  poor  girl !  I  don't 
think  Sidney  Parker  will  ever  be  rich — he  is  too  much  like 
Uncle  Ashmore  himself." 

There  was  something  in  Katherine's  mode  of  saying  this  that 
implied  no  great  respect  for  a  man  who  was  not  likely  to  make 
himself  rich. 

"Uncle  Ashmore  is  too  habitually  generous  ever  to  accumu 
late  much  property,"  said  Ellis.  "  He  sees  so  many  cases  in 
which  a  little  money  will  do  a  great  deal  of  good,  that  he  can 
not  resolve  to  refrain  for  the  sake  of  laying  by  more  than  a  de 
cent  provision  for  his  family.  He  does  not  even  gratify  himself 
by  doing  good  in  a  conspicuous  way  ;  his  bounty  flows  in  those 
silent  and  unconsidered  channels  which  drain  off  the  means  of 
showy  charity.  Far  less  does  he  desire  to  see  his  family  wear 
au  appearance  above  their  means." 

"  0,  nobody  thinks  of  dressing  according  to  their  means," 
said  Katherine  ;  "  the  idea  is  exploded." 

"You  are  a  satirist,  without  knowing  it,"  replied  her  husband. 
"If  I  had  said  any  thing  as  severe  against  the  dishonesty  in 
duced  by  the  prevalent  passion  for  dress,  you  would  have  thought 
me  very  harsh.  But  pray  don't  let  us  contribute  more  than  our 
share  to  the  general  evil." 

But  George  prevailed,  and  Mary  Ashmore,  without  other 
dower  than  her  parents'  good  name  and  her  own  sweetness  of 
character,  entered  upon  her  married  life  with  an  outfit  that  in  sim 
pler  times  would  have  befitted  an  heiress. 

This  is  but  a  sample  of  the  influence  exercised  by  George 
Fountain  upon  his  sister — trying,  certainly,  to  her  husband,  but 
of  little  moment  compared  with  the  deterioation  observable  in 


THE   ISLAND  STORY  181 

George  himself — observable  to  every  eye  but  Katherine's.  His 
habits,  his  companions,  his  sentiments,  were  all  more  and  more 
annoying  to  Mr.  Ellis — nearly  as  much  so,  perhaps,  as  was  the 
consciousness  of  Ellis's  pure  and  searching  eye  to  the  young 
roue.  Both  would  have  been  heartily  glad  of  a  separation  ; 
but  Ellis  kept  down  the  thought  from  love  to  his  wife  and  a  de 
sire  to  benefit  her  brother,  while  George  refrained  from  casting 
loose  this  last  anchor  in  the  respectable,  lest  Mr.  Deane  should 
take  the  alarm.  How  often,  in  families  seemingly  harmonious, 
exist  these  opposing  forces,  so  equally  balanced  that  it  would 
take  no  more  than  a  straw's  weight  to  revolutionize  the  whole  I 


The  Spring  brought  George  Fountain  a  good  excuse  for 
changing  his  quarters.  Mrs.  St.  John  did  not  make  her  annual 
visit,  but  went  to  Paris  instead.  Another  visitor,  however,  even 
more  important  and  importunate,  and  certainly  more  welcome, 
made  his  appearance,  in  the  shape  of  a  little  boy — with  dark 
eyes  the  '  very  moral '  of  Katherine's — and  a  habit  of  making 
his  wants  known  with  very  little  scruple  throughout  the  quiet 

halls  in Sqnare.     Here  was  an  affair !     It  seemed  to  be 

the  deliberate  conviction  of  the  household  that  there  never  had 
been  a  baby  born  before,  so  infinite  were  the  preparations,  and 
agitations,  and  consultations  about  him  and  his  mother.  Aunt 
Susan  was  young  again  ;  the  younger  Ashmores  had  to  be  ex 
cluded  by  main  force  ;  the  nurse  ruled  the  house,  and  the  new 
papa's  mild  eyes  glistened  from  morning  till  night,  spite  of  the 
efforts  he  made  to  be  philosophically  composed.  All  was  pure 
sunshine  in  his  mind,  for  he  felt  sure  that  the  opening  of  this 


182  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

new  spring  of  natural  tenderness  would  carry  away  all  the  rub 
bish  of  Fashion  that  was  threatening  to  incrust  his  wife's  heart. 
And  at  first  it  seemed  so.  But  with  the  return  of  health  and 
strength  came  back  the  old  solicitude  about  modes  and  magni 
ficence  ;  and  Aunt  Susan's  ways  of  thinking,  and  her  notions  of 
the  simplicity  proper  in  all  arrangements  about  the  infant,  were 
set  aside  by  the  nurse's  incessant  suggestions  that  Mrs.  Preston 
had  this  and  Mrs.  Fitzgerald  that ;  such  and  such  plans  were 
always  pursued  in  Mrs.  Basinghall's  nurseries,  and  such  and  such 
others  had  been  condemned  by  Dr.  Fairlove  ;  till  all  interest  in 
the  child  personally  threatened  to  be  swallowed  up  in  arrange 
ments  for  his  making  his  debut  in  life  under  proper  circumstances. 
This  folly  came  nearer  to  exhausting  Ellis's  patience  than  any 
thing  yet,  and  he  tried  both  persuasion  and  authority  against 
it,  but  with  little  avail.  The  nurse  was  quite  too  much  for  him. 

Kothing  less  than  a  country-house  now  met  Katheriue's 
ideas,  and  but  one  region  offered  an  eligible  site  for  this,  in  her 
opinion  ; — that  which  included  the  summer  residence  of  certain 
persons  whom  she  called  her  friends,  though  they  had  little  in 
common  with  her  except  the  love  of  expense  and  show.  Ellis 
soon  perceived  that  she  had  set  her  heart  fully  on  this,  and  he 
yielded  with  the  best  possible  grace — as  he  always  did  when  he 
yielded  at  all — an  example  for  all  good  husbands  1 

Behold  our  friends,  then,  installed  in  what  was  to  be  styled, 
by  some  stretch  of  poetry,  a  rural  residence,  though,  except  in 
the  lack  of  some  few  conveniences,  it  was  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  a  city  house,  with  nothing  like  country  about  it  save 
the  trees  and  flowers.  Town  habits — a  phalanx  of  town  ser 
vants — visitors  most  urban,  who  would  have  been  amused  to  see 
one  of  the  neighboring  farmers  seated  in  the  drawing-room,  or 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  183 

one  of  his  daughters  received  except  in  a  menial  position — 
these  made  up  the  ruralizing  of  our  heroine's  ideal.  Her  visit 
to  Mrs.  Dudley  seemed  only  to  have  taught  her  what  to  avoid  ; 
she  had  no  more  communication  with  her  rustic  or  even  her 
plain  neighbors  than  if  they  had  been  Caffres  or  cannibals,  and 
considered  herself  as  fully  excused  from  caring  for  their  weal  or 

woe  as  if  she  had  been  in Square,  or  studying  political 

economy.  We  need  not  say  that  this  state  of  things  accorded 
but  ill  with  Mr.  Ellis's  more  humane  and  patriotic  theories,  and 
it  is  to  be  confessed  that,  but  for  the  baby,  this  summer  would 
have  been  one  of  little  sympathy  of  enjoyment  between  husband 
and  wife. 

Not  that  Mr.  Ellis  relished — few  husbands  do, — being  entirely 
superseded  by  his  son  ;  finding  himself  of  no  account  in  compari 
son  with  "  the  baby,"  and  being  unable  to  win  his  wife's  atten 
tion  to  any  employment  that  had  the  slightest  interest  for  him. 
The  house  was  practically  a  nursery,  as  far  as  its  main  object 
of  attention  was  concerned,  and  this  did  not  accord,  in  any 
degree,  with  its  master's  ideas  of  what  was  proper ;  but  with 
his  usual  patience  he  bore  all,  and  waited  for  better  times.  His 
confidence  in  Katherine's  good  sense  and  good  feeling  was 
unshaken,  and  he  always  looked  forward  with  sure  hope  to  the 
time  when  she  would  be  disposed  of  her  own  accord  to  remedy 
what  he  disapproved. 

George  remained  in  town,  in  attendance  on  Mr.  Deane,  who 
was  becoming  more  and  more  feeble,  and  seemed  likely  soon  to 
lay  down  his  earthly  load.  Mr.  Ellis  would  fain  have  had  the 
old  gentleman  removed  to  his  house,  but  this  George  opposed 
resolutely,  on  the  score  that  the  invalid  would  be  obliged  to 
change  his  physicians,  and  George  now  ruled  Mr.  Deane  entirely. 


184  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

Gay  and  handsome  as  ever,  always  good-humored  and  ready  for 
social  enjoyment,  he  was  universally  popular,  and  had  hosts  of 
friends.  Katherine  was  very  proud  of  her  brother — proud  of 
the  abilities  which  every  body  said  he  had,  although  he  had 
never  yet  put  them  to  any  use  beyond  the  pleasure  of  the 
moment ;  proud  of  his  elegant,  dashing  manners,  and  of  his 
fashionable  connections.  She  would  fain  have  called  her  son 
after  him,  but  Mr.  Ellis  so  urged  the  pleasure  the  compliment 
would  give  Uncle  and  Aunt  Ashmore,  that  she  consented  to 
give  him  her  uncle's  name,  feeling,  however,  that  she  made  a 
great  sacrifice  to  her  husband's  wishes,  for  it  had  become  a 
sacrifice  in  Katherine's  eyes  to  give  up  her  own  will  in  any 
thing. 

So  the  summer  wore  away,  and  then  the  autnmn  and  the 
winter,  in  outward  calm  and  secret  conflict  of  feeling — not  the 
conflict  that  results  in  quarrels  and  disaffection,  but  a  state  that 
detracts  much  from  happiness,  corroding  its  substance  day  by 
day,  and  lowering  our  expectations  of  it,  until  we  learn  to  sub 
stitute  something  else  for  it — business,  or  pleasure,  or  vice,  or 
indifference.  It  is  somewhat  strange  that,  referring  as  we  all 
do,  nominally,  to  one  standard  of  thought  and  action,  there 
should  be  so  many  practical  discrepancies.  A  heartier  and 
more  intelligent  reference  to  that  standard  would  obviate  so 
many  of  them ! 

Mr.  Deane  lingered,  in  prolonged  suffering  and  sadder  and 
sadder  decay,  throughout  the  next  winter.  George  was  not  neg 
lectful  of  the  sick  bed,  but  rumors  of  the  irregularity  of  his 
habits  had  become  public,  and  his  handsome  face  began  to  tell 
tales  .of  late  hours  and  indulged  passions,  in  the  relaxing  of  its 
clear-cut  outlines  and  the  inequality  of  its  once  perfect  complex- 


THE   ISLAND   STORY.  185 

ion.  His  youthful  freshness  was  already  gone  ;  premature  know- 
ingness  vulgarized  his  calm  statuesque  beauty  ;  Perseus  was  de 
generating  into  Beau  Brummell ;  classic  purity  into  conventional 
pettiness.  With  his  first  beauty  had  departed  his  early  good 
nature,  or  at  least  the  even  flow  of  it  ;  alternations  of  wild  gay- 
ety  and  moody  reserve  now  characterized  his  behavior,  even  to 
his  sister,  who  could  no  longer  be  blind  to  the  unhappy  change, 
though  she  admitted  it  only  with  painful  resistance.  It  was 
long  since  Mr.  Ellis  had  attempted  in  the  least  to  influence  his 
brother-in-law,  but  now,  at  his  wife's  earnest  entreaty,  he  sought 
a  private  conversation  with  him,  though  with  faint  hope  of  be 
ing  of  service.  As  he  had  expected,  he  met  only  angry  replies, 
and  such  insulting  cautions  not  to  undertake  '  lecturing,'  as  re 
quired  all  his  self-command,  and  all  his  affection  for  Katherine 
to  enable  him  to  bear. 

Here  was  a  speck  of  black  reality  in  the  midst  of  Katherine's 
golden  sky  !  Some  truths  flashed  out  of  it,  however,  and  truth 
is  always  worth  what  it  costs.  Katherine  was  a  mother,  now, 
— the  mother  of  a  son  ;  and  George's  misconduct  reminded  her 
that  a  son  is  not  a  mere  plaything — a  puppet  to  be  dressed  and 
paraded,  to  feed  the  vanity  of  the  hour ;  or  a  fairy  creature, 
whose  beauty  is  to  prove  a  talisman  against  evil.  A  young 
mother  secretly  refers  every  thing  to  the  new  object  of  interest, 
and  ours  had  a  thousand  fresh,  enlightening  thoughts  of  the 
little  one  on  her  lap,  as  she  wept  over  the  unhappy  condition 
of  her  brother,  though  she  was  far  from  a  full  perception  of  his 
deterioration  or  its  cause.  She  began  to  suspect — though  dimly 
— that  money  cannot  buy  all  that  is  desirable  ;  and  the  struggle 
in  her  mind  between  the  experience  of  to-day  and  the  vague 
notions  of  her  past  life  was  full  of  surprise  as  well  as  pain. 


186  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

Things  went  on  this  way  until  Mr.  Deane's  death — an  event 
long  expected,  and  which  Katherine  and  her  husband — now  al 
most  of  one  mind  as  to  George — hoped  might  work  a  salutary 
change  upon  the  object  of  the  poor  old  man's  mistaken  kindness. 
George  used  to  be  deficient  neither  in  generosity  nor  gratitude, 
but  who  could  recognize  the  ingenious,  warm-hearted  boy  of  the 
Christmas  dinner-party,  in  the  blase,  prematurely  old,  selfish  and 
grasping  heir,  who  evidently  felt  relieved  by  the  death  of  his 
benefactor  ? 

The  opening  of  the  will  was  not  calculated  to  calm  the  turbu 
lent  mind  of  the  unhappy  young  man.  Besides  providing  much 
more  largely  than  George  had  expected  for  some  rather  distant 
relatives,  Mr.  Deane  had  hampered  the  residue  of  his  property 
with  many  cautious  restrictions,  all  evidently  referring  to  George's 
habits  of  reckless  expense  ;  and,  to  give  the  finishing  stroke  to 
the  heir's  vexation,  had  left  Henry  Ellis  sole  trustee,  with  more 
than  usual  discretionary  power.  George  now,  throwing  off  all 
restraint,  behaved  like  a  madman,  insulted  his  brother-in-law, 
and  cast  his  sister  from  him  with  expressions  that  cut  her  to  the 
heart. 

Katherine,  long  self-deluded,  was  now  utterly  astounded, — 
frightened  to  the  shelter  of  her  husband's  love  and  wisdom,  by 
her  brother's  fury — his  despair — his  threats  against  himself — his 
execrations  of  the  very  memory  of  his  ill-judging  friend.  She 
had  as  yet  seen  only  the  gentler  side  of  human  nature  ;  she 
hardly  suspected  the  existence  of  such  passions  as  the  once  kind, 
joyous,  affectionate  George  Fountain  exhibited  under  the  stings 
of  his  present  position,  so  much  worse,  from  causes  unknown  to 
her,  than  it  appeared  outwardly.  As  in  conscious  weakness  she 
turned  to  her  husband  for  support  under  this  overwhelming  afflic- 


THE  ISLAND   STORY.  187 

tion,  she  began  to  perceive  the  value  of  firmness  united  with 
kindness  like  his,  and  to  appreciate  the  difference  between  her 
brother's  splendid  exterior  and  real  selfishness,  and  the  calm,  bal 
anced,  considerate  and  seemingly  exhaustless  goodness  of  him 
whom  she  had,  by  some  strange  delusion,  learned  to  look  upon 
as  an  unsympathizing  judge.  Mr  Ellis,  exasperated  as  he  had 
been  by  George's  insane  conduct  towards  himself,  went  at  once 
into  the  most  careful  and  patient  examination  of  Mr.  Deane's 
affairs,  and  was  shocked  to  find  how  little  would  be  left  at 
George's  command  after  the  provisions  of  the  will  had  been  car 
ried  out,  and  the  enormous  expenses  of  the  poor  old  man's  long 
illness  at  a  fashionable  hotel,  and  under  the  care  of  several  phy 
sicians,  discharged.  George  must  apply  himself  at  once  to  the 
study  of  a  profession,  and  under  what  disadvantages  ! 

So  thought  Ellis  in  his  kindness,  but  he  little  suspected  then 
what  he  soon  after  discovered  with  horror — the  extent  of  those 
disadvantages.  Deluded  by  extravagant  ideas  of  Mr.  Deane's 
fortune,  and  thoroughly  entangled  with  vicious  companions, 
George  had  in  the  course  of  a  single  year  managed  to  dissipate 
the  whole  and  even  more,  by  anticipation,  and  was  now  in  debt 
far  beyond  the  compass  of  the  estate  which  had  been  his  ruin. 
Besides  this,  surrounded  by  sharpers,  he  had  been  led,  in  his  ig 
norance,  into  transactions  which  might  involve  the  total  loss  of 
honor  and  credit.  Mr.  Ellis  made  this  discovery,  as  we  have 
said,  with  horror  ;  to  his  wife  it  was  absolute  prostration .  Her 
excitement  almost  equalled  George's  own  ;  and  when  the  first 
grief  had  in  a  measure  exhausted  itself  in  tears,  she  displayed  a 
force  of  passion  and  resolution  that  astonished  her  husband. 

"  Save  my  brother,  Henry  !"  she  sobbed,  clinging  to  him  as 
she  would  have  clasped  a  life-buoy  among  midnight  waves  in  a 


188  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

tempest ;  "  Save  him,  oh  my  husband,  like  yourself — at  any  cost ! 
I  am  ready  to  make  all  sacrifices — to  part  with  every  thing,  rather 
than  see  George  disgraced — lost — ruined  !  0  my  brother — 
my  brother  !  If  my  poor,  poor  mother  had  lived  to  see  this 
day  1" 

Ellis,  alarmed,  agitated,  yet  conscious  all  the  while  of  a  se 
cret  pleasure  in  this  evidence  of  deep  feeling  and  unsuspected 
strength  in  his  wife,  calmed  and  comforted  her  with  promises  of 
aid,  and  professions — worth  something  from  him — of  an  interest 
in  George's  welfare  second  only  to  her  own. 

"  Only  be  calm,  dear  love  I"  he  said,  "  and  let  our  kindness 
to  George  be  real.  He  has  suffered  enough  already,  poor  fellow  I 
by  mistaken  kindness.  To  step  in,  at  once,  between  him  and 
this  great  lesson,  would  be  any  thing  but  kind.  Think  of  his 
future  life — of  his  character — all  is  at  stake  at  this  crisis.  Even 
his  reputation  is  of  minor  importance,  since  reputation  may  be 
earned  ;  but  that,  too;  shall  be  saved.  Only  be  patient,  and 
let  us  act  deliberately  and  with  judgment." 

We  cannot  follow  this  generous  brother-in-law  through  the 
difficulties  and  trials  involved  in  these  promises  to  his  wife  ; 
enough  that  he  fulfilled  them  all,  and  that  she  held  fast  by  her 
offer, — made  indeed  in  the  first  passionate  grief  and  mortifica 
tion  which  attended  the  discovery  of  her  brother's  position,  but 
perhaps  suggested  in  part  by  an  unconfessed  distrust  of  the  per 
manent  happiness  of  the  life  that  had  for  a  while  so  enchanted 
her — to  undergo  any  sacrifice  required  for  George's  redemption. 
She  even  went  beyond  her  husband's  thoughts,  in  desiring  a 
complete  change  of  life  in  consequence  of  his  payment  of 
George's  debts  ;  and  Ellis,  not  forgetting,  in  the  delight  inspir 
ed  by  this  realization  of  his  best  hopes  of  Katherine's  character, 


THE    ISLAND    STORY.  189 

the  possible  temptations  of  old  association  after  the  storm  of 
feeling  should  have  subsided,  consented  to  a  reduction  of  expen 
ses  further  than  was  necessary,  and  allowed  Katherine  to  follow 
out  the  promptings  of  her  enthusiasm,  and  regulate  their  new 
establishment  on  a  scale  more  moderate  than  he  himself  would 
have  ventured  to  propose,  but  which,  nevertheless,  accorded 
very  well  with  his  principles  and  even  his  taste. 

"Do  not  undertake  more  than  you  can  bear,  dear  Kate" — 
he  said,  smiling. 

"Never  fear,"  she  replied,  " I  am  stronger  than  you  think," 
— and  truly  her  husband  began  to  feel  a  sort  of  awe  of  this  her 
new  power.  Men  of  sense,  even,  are  apt  to  be  astonished  at 
any  evidence  of  strength  of  character  in  women,  perhaps  natu 
rally  enough. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  give  a  just  idea  of  all  the  circumstan 
ces  attending  the  new  state  of  things.  George,  after  going 
through  every  phase  of  passion,  rejecting  all  aid  from  his  broth 
er-in-law,  saying  every  reckless  word  and  doing  every  unwise 
thing  that  an  ungoverned  young  man  might  under  the  circum 
stances  contrive  to  crowd  into  the  space  of  a  few  weeks,  came 
at  last  to  see  himself  as  he  was,  and  to  understand  something 
of  Mr.  Ellis's  character.  When  he  had  reached  this  point,  it  is 
not  wonderful  that  he  soon  began  to  feel  the  humiliation  proper 
to  the  contrast.  What  Ellis's  superiority  in  mere  wisdom  could 
never  have  done,  his  inexhaustible  patience  and  unmistakable 
goodness  accomplished.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  a  life  proved  irre 
sistible  where  arguments  were  powerless,  and  George's  proud 
heart  at  last  bowed  itself  in  confession  and  regret  ;  and  while, 
as  much  for  his  sister's  sake  as  his  own,  he  accepted  the  sacrifice 
she  was  proud  and  happy  to  make  with  her  husband's  full  con- 


190  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

sent,  his  spirit  arose  at  once  to  the  desire  of  reparation  by  self- 
denial,  labor,  and  the  thorough  renunciation  of  the  delusions  that 
bad  once  so  much  power  over  him. 

"  But  I  must  run  away,  Kate,"  he  said  ;  "  I  cannot  face  the 
sight  of  the  change  you  and  Henry  make  for  my  sake.  Let  me 
bury  myself  in  the  country,  for  a  time,  at  least." 

"  You  need  not  quite  bury  yourself,  George,"  said  Mr.  Ellis, 
sm'ling  ;  "  I  dare  say  my  sister  would  be  happy  to  receive  you, 
if  you  would  like  to  study  with  Mr.  Dudley." 

"  O,  if  she  would  !"  said  Katherine  ;  "but  I  know  she  will! 
she  is  all  goodness."  And  tears  filled  her  eyes  as  she  recollected 
how  poorly  she  had  once  valued  that  goodness. 

And  George  plunged  into  the  study  of  law  with  all  the  impe 
tuosity  of  devotion  that  he  had  been  wasting  on  unworthy 
pursuits,  and  met  manfully  the  disagreeables  attendant  on  his 
new  life  and  the  total  renunciation  of  his  old  companionship. 
Trials  there  were,  many  and  bitter,  for  no  soul  not  utterly  de- 
praved  ever  passes  out  of  the  glare  and  gloom  of  vice  into 
purer  light  and  air  without  horrible  pangs  of  retrospection  ;  but 
there  was  in  George  Fountain,  as  in  his  sister,  a  latent  power, 
of  which  the  outward  symmetry  and  harmony,  that  distinguished 
them  both,  was  Nature's  gracious  token.  Stunted  by  evil  cul 
ture,  thwarted  by  unhappy  circumstances,  misused  and  poisoned 
under  the  allurements  of  vice,  mind  and  body  would  have  deteri 
orated  together  ;  but  watched  over  and  preserved  from  fatal 
taint  by  pure  influences  in  childhood,  and  borne  up  through 
temptation  and  difficulty  by  such  wisdom  and  kindness  as' can 
be  found  only  among  those  who  are  at  one  with  God  and  good 
ness,  the  accord  designed  by  Providence  between  beauty  and 
virtue  was  once  more  apparent ;  and  Katherine  and  her  brother 


THE  ISLAND  STORY  191 

seemed,  to  the  few  about  them  who  knew  all,  more  lovely  in  the 
new  light  and  glow  of  grateful  and  exalted  feeling,  than  even  in 
the  unruffled  attractiveness  of  their  earlier  graces. 

"  This  is  your  doing,"  said  Katherine  to  her  husband,  in  a 
moment  of  grateful  emotion  ;  and  the  few  words  and  the  look 
that  accompanied  them,  said  more  for  the  past  and  the  future 
than  whole  volumes  of  regrets  and  promises.  Need  we  say  that 
he  felt,  in  that  moment,  the  reward  of  his  patient  love  ?  But 

such  hearts  are  their  own  reward. 

* 

"All-givers  need  no  gifts." 

These  lines  of  Anne  Lynch  hint  at  the  secret  of  such  a  charac 
ter  ;  let  us  recommend  them  as  a  life-text  : 

Go  forth  in  life,  O  Friend,  not  seeking  love, 
A  mendicant,  that,  with  imploring  eye 
And  outstretched  hand,  asks  of  the  passers-by 
The  alms  his  strong  necessities  may  move. 
For  such  poor  love,  to  pity  near  allied, 
Thy  generous  spirit  may  not  stoop  and  wait, 
A  suppliant  whose  prayer  may  be  denied, 
Like  a  spurned  beggar's  at  a  palace  gate; 
But  thy  heart's  affluence  lavish  uncontroll'd  ; 
The  largess  of  thy  love  give  full  and  free, 
As  monarchs  in  their  progress  scatter  gold  ; 
And  be  thy  heart  like  the  exhaustless  sea. 
That  must  its  -wealth  of  cloud  and  dew  bestow 
Though  tributary  streams  or  ebb  or  flow. 


"  Humph !"  said  Mr.  Ingoldsby  ;  "  I  wish  all  these  fine  do 
ings  were  true,  but — " 

"  But  they  could  be,  papa  1"  exclaimed  Elinor — 
"  And  have  been,"  said  Mrs.  Marston,  with  the  air  of  one 
prepared  to  defend  her  position. 


192  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

But  Mr.  Ingoldsby  only  shook  his  head,  and  what  sad  things 
are  implied  by  such  shakes  of  the  head  in  old  people! 

"  I  am  afraid  George  Fountain  is  going  to  turn  out  a  spoon," 
said  Henry  Marston — 

"  You  mean  only  silver,  I  suppose,"  said  his  mother,  "  not 
gold.  Would  you  rather  see  him  a  dagger,  piercing  the  hearts 
that  loved  him  ?" 

"  Any  thing  not  soft,"  said  the  youthful  sage — 

"  Nothing  is  so  '  soft,'  in  your  sense  of  the  word,  as  wicked- 
mess,"  was  Mrs.  Marston's  reply  to  this  sally  ;  "  none  require  so 
much  courage  as  the  good."  . 

"And  now  only  one  more  chapter,"  said  Miss  Ingoldsby. 
"  See  that  flash  of  scarlet  on  the  maple  yonder,  and  the  yellow 
leaves  on  the  locusts.  We  shall  leave  the  woods  when  they  are 
in  all  their  splendor.  Who  shall  object  to  our  American  love 
of  gorgeous  colors,  when  Providence  sets  us  such  an  example  1" 

"  Providence  does  not  put  them  upon  man,  or  even  woman, 
though,"  said  her  father,  laughing,  "  but  only  on  plants,  parro- 
quets,  rattle-snakes  and  the  like — " 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Whipple,  who  felt  a  little  stirred  by  this 
glance  at  her  tender  point,  "  that  Providence  in  not  clothing  us 
at  all,  gave  us  all  creation  to  choose  out  of." 

"  So  think  the  Indians/'  persisted  her  antagonist ;  "  and  so 
they  stick  feathers  into  their  ears  and  bones  through  their 
noses.  It  is  all  a  matter  of  taste,  certainly  ;  but  I  shall  be 
glad  when  we  get  beyond  the  aborigines  in  our  choice  of  colors, 
and  begin  to  dress  for  beauty  rather  than  for  display  of  wealth. 
Dress  never  would  have  called  forth  the  censure  of  the  wise,  if 
it  had  been  used  only  to  enhance  human  loveliness,  and  not  to 
gratify  human  pride." 


THE    ISLAND    STORY.  193 

"  Dear  me  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Whipple,  puzzled  by  this  heresy, 
"  then  one  ought  to  wear  nothing  but  what  is  becoming  1  I 
don't  know  what  would  become  of  the  mantuamakers  1" 


Far  the  most  loved  are  they 
Of  whom  Tame  speaks  not  with  her  clarion-voice 
In  regal  halls;  the  shades  o'erhang  their  way; 
The  vale,  with  its  deep  fountains,  is  tbeir  choice, 

And  gentle  hearts  rejoice 
Around  their  steps,  till  silently  they  die, 
As  a  stream  shrinks  from  summer's  burning  eye. 

This  is  the  hour  of  your  trial,  the  turning-point  of  existence, 

Seed  for  the  coming  days ;  without  revocation  departeth 

Now  from  your  lips  the  confession — bethink  ye  before  ye  make  answer  1 

We  have  now  to  look  upon  the  Ellises  in  a  new  position. 

With  what  hope  of  success  can  we  undertake  the  task  of 
showing  happiness  in  a  way  of  life  neither  rich  nor  poor — lack 
ing  both  the  dignity  of  splendor  and  the  picturesqueness  of 
poverty  ;  requiring  no  great  and  showy  sacrifices,  and  admitting 
of  none  of  those  magnificent  virtues  which  are  sure  to  bring 
their  reward  of  public  praise  as  well  as  secret  self-complacency  ? 

In  the  first  place — what  did  '  the  world'  say  ? 

If  our  hero  and  heroine  had  emerged  from  a  plain  mansion 
into  a  palace,  the  world  would  have  been  deeply  interested  ;  its 
sympathies  would  have  been  excited,  its  affections  active  ;  it 
would  have  felt  the  force  of  the  injunction  to  '  rejoice  with  those 
that  rejoice/  for  it  is  a  very  amiable  world  under  such  circum 
stances.  To  be  sure  it  might  have  scrutinized  a  little  the  sources 
of  the  golden  stream  ;  it  might  have  made  scientific  inquiries 
into  the  nature  of  the  chrysalis  which  gave  a  magnificent 
13 


194  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

papillon  to  the  sunshine  ;  while  it  would  have  conscientiously 
endeavored  to  moderate  the  self-gratulation  of  the  debutans  by 
suggesting  as  many  mortifying  drawbacks  as  possible.  But  it 
would  have  smiled,  and  bowed,  and  gazed,  and  praised,  most 
satisfactorily.  All  the  charming  qualities  of  the  happy  pair 
would  have  shone  out  anew,  like  jewels  in  a  fresh  and  fashiona 
ble  setting.  From  commonplace  people  they  would  have  flower 
ed  out  into  prodigies. 

But  as  nobody  but  sentimentalists  praise  the  sun  when  it  goes 
behind  a  cloud,  so  the  amiable  world  was  entirely  content  that 
Mr.  arid  Mrs.  Ellis,  after  a  brief  period  of  brilliance,  should  be 
as  retiring  and  retired  as  they  pleased.  As  to  the  why  and 
wherefore,  that  certainly  was  a  nine  days'  wonder.  Losses 
there  had  been  none,  that  any  body  could  discover  ;  '  specula 
tion  '  perhaps,  but  where  ?  It  might  be  a  fit  of  penuriousness, 
on  finding  how  much  it  took  to  keep  up  a  handsome  establish 
ment  and  an  expensive  wife,  for  Ellis  was  always  something  of 
a  prig  !  But  the  thought  of  his  having  paid  his  brother-in- 
law's  debts  never  entered  any  body's  head.  George  was  sup 
posed  to  have  done  that,  (foolishly  !)  out  of  Mr.  Deane's  prop 
erty,  leaving  himself  nothing. 

We  dare  not  say  that  what  the  world,  lately  so  important  to 
Katherine,  said  of  her  change  of  appearance,  was  of  no  moment 
to  her.  There  were  times,  certainly,  when  this  was  the  case,  but 
those  were  times  of  excitement,  which  do  not  last  always.  So 
she  was  subject  to  alternations — trials  of  feeling — waverings  of 
resolution — misgivings  as  to  her  own  strength — and — for  we  do 
not  claim  for  our  heroine  a  position  beyond  humanity — doubts  as 
to  whether  so  much  was  really  required  of  her.  We  cannot 
always  bear  in  mind  all  the  stringent  particulars  under  which  we 


THE   ISLAND   STORY.  195 

came  to  unusual  and  trying  decisions  ;  so  that  after  the  benefit 
of  those  decisions  has  begun  to  be  felt,  we  are  prone  to  question 
their  wisdom.     This  is  one  of  the  effects  of  the  '  imperfection 
of  the  instrument,'  as  the  piano-tuners  say  ;  a  lack  of  perfect 
proportion  in  the  action  of  our  powers.     But  Katherine  had  a 
perpetual   memory   of  George's  altered — lowered  face,   during 
that  miserable  winter,  when  the  radiant  eyes  of  his  guardian 
angel  must  have  been  turned  away,  discouraged  ;  and  a  perpet 
ual  comfort  in  an  occasional  view  of  his  cleared,  animated,  self- 
respecting  look  under  the  toils  of  study,  cheered  by  the  con 
sciousness  of  honest  intent.     The  world  did  not  believe  in  the 
permanence  of  this  change,  for  in  all  similar  cases,  from  Prince 
Hal  downwards,  it  takes  refuge  in  doubt  from  the  mortifying 
sense   of  the   failure  of  its   spells.     Yet,  happily,  instances   in 
which  it  is  at  last  forced  into  faith  are  neither  few  nor  obscure. 
It  was  curjous  and  affecting  to  see  how  much  the  old  inti 
macy  of  communion  with  the  Ashmores  revived  under  the  new 
circumstances.      Not   that   Katherine   had   ever   intentionally 
chilled  the  dear  friends  of  her  infancy  by  word  or  look.     She 
had  been  disposed  to  load  them  with  benefits,  beyond  their  wil 
lingness  to  accept,  and  she  had  given  no  little  thought  to  the 
ways  and  means  of  doing  them  good.     But  there  is  an  irresisti 
ble  effect  of  great  difference  of  position  and  outward  circumstan 
ces  in  keeping  friends  apart.     The  poorer  feel  it  if  the  richer 
do  not ;  and  the  space  between  grows  insensibly  wider,  in  spite 
of  the  sincerest  efforts  on  both  sides  to  bridge  it  over.     How 
happy  was  good  Aunt  Susan  to  have  the  cold  veil  removed  that 
she  had  felt,  if  not  seen,  interposed  between  her  darling  and 
herself ;  and  how  happy  was  Katherine  to  find  herself  once 
more  nestling,  as  it  were,  under  the  beloved  wing  !     How  much 


196  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

more  at  home  did  all  feel  in  the  new  house,  comfortable  and 
elegant  as  it  was,  than  in  the  midst  of  too  great  profusion  of 
expense  and  ornament !  And  how  much  more  time  there 
seemed  for  hospitality,  truly  such,  when  a  host  of  stately  people 
who  had  given  no  pleasure  ceased  coming  because  they  were  no 
longer  invited.  The  Enfields  concealed  their  wonder  and  dis 
gust  under  polite  coolness,  for  they  had  '  no  patience  with  such 
absurdity.'  Mrs.  St.  John  wrote  letters  of  condolence  which 
made  Katherine  laugh. 

Besides  the  more  obvious  sources  of  the  quiet  happiness 
which  became  gradually  and  gently  the  habit  of  our  heroine  in 
her  less  splendid  home,  was  one  of  which  she  had  had  no  pre 
vious  conception,  and  for  which  she  had  laid  no  plan.  The  dis 
charge  of  half  her  servants  had  brought  her  into  more  intimate 
personal  relations  with  her  own  domestic  affairs.  It  may  be 
only  a  fancy  of  ours,  that  Providence  has  so  decidedly  fitted 
woman  for  household  cares,  that  she  is  never  truly  and  healthily 
happy  without  them  ;  but  if  it  be  a  fancy,  it  is  one  which  much 
observation  has  confirmed.  If  there  be  any  thing  likely  to 
banish  the  fiend  ennui  from  the  dwellings  of  women  of  fortune, 
it  is  the  habit  of  assuming  a  moderate  share  of  the  daily  cares 
which  go  to  make  home  home.  To  do  every  thing  by  proxy  is 
to  deprive  ourselves  of  a  thousand  wholesome,  cheerful,  innocent 
interests  ;  to  nourish  our  pride  and  indolence  at  the  expense  of 
our  affections ;  to  sacrifice  the  life  of  life  to  a  notion  of  gentil 
ity,  poor,  hollow  and  barren  ;  nay,  is  there  not  something 
almost  impious  in  scorning  the  position  for  which  God  so  evi 
dently  designed  woman,  and  living  an  artificial  life  of  our  own 
devising,  deputing  our  duties  and  privileges  to  hirelings  ? 

It  is  a  singular  delusion,  this,  of  some  women,  and  of  Ameri- 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  197 

can  women  in  particular,  for  we  know  that  even  in  England 
women  of  fortune  are  much  more  truly  domestic  in  their  tastes 
and  habits  than  we.  We  remember  a  story  of  a  certain  Duchess 
cleaning  some  picture-frames,  when  a  protegee  who  happened  to 
be  present,  officiously  desired  to  take  the  office  upon  herself. 

"  Child  !"  said  her  grace,  "  don't  you  suppose  I  should  have 
called  a  servant  if  I  had  not  chosen  to  do  it  myself  !" 

The  German  ladies,  with  all  their  cultivation,  take  the  most 
intimate  interest  in  householdry,  and  they  are  remarkable  for 
cheerfulness  of  temper,  for  natural  and  charming  manners,  and 
for  the  intelligence  and  vivacity  of  their  conversational  powers. 
Who  knows  but  the  terrible  dearth  of  subjects  of  conversation 
among  us  might  be  somewhat  mitigated,  if  our  ladies  spent  a 
part  of  every  morning  among  the  various  cares  and  duties,  on 
the  proper  performance  of  which  so  much  of  the  comfort  and 
happiness  of  life  depends,  and  which  call  into  action  far  higher 
powers  than  those  required  for  the  bald  chit-chat  of  an  evening 
party,  or  the  inanities  of  a  morning  call  ? 

The  universal  sentiment  of  men  is  in  favor  of  active  domestic 
habits  for  women.  It  is  said  that  men  '  love  to  see  women  del 
icate,'  and  so  they  do,  doubtless.  But  does  any  moderate 
amount  of  attention  to  home  affairs  deprive  a  lady  of  her  deli 
cacy  ?  It  may  prevent  the  delicacy  of  dyspepsia,  but  few  gen 
tlemen  admire  that.  Indeed  we  have  yet  to  discover  the  man 
of  sense  who  is  displeased  by  his  wife's  personal  care  of  the 
comfort  and  economy  of  her  house.  Those  whose  lives  are  em 
bittered  by  the  lack  of  it  are  not  far  to  seek.  No  houses  are 
regulated  with  such  neatness,  accuracy  and  elegance  as  those 
in  which  the  ladies  of  the  family  take  a  personal  part  in  house 
hold  duties. 


198  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

Goethe  says  of  a  young  woman  of  his  friends — and  a  man  of 
genius  is  entitled  to  speak  for  his  sex — "  After  the  death  of  her 
mother,  she  displayed  a  high  degree  of  activity  as  the  head 
of  a  numerous  young  family,  and,  alone,  had  sustained  her  father 
in  his  widowhood.  The  future  husband  could  thus  hope  an 
equal  blessing  for  himself  and  his  descendants,  and  expect  a  de 
cided  domestic  happiness.  Every  one  confessed  that  she  was  a 
woman  to  be  wished  for.  She  was  one  of  those,  who,  if  they 
do  not  inspire  vehement  passion,  are  found  to  excite  a  universal 
pleasure.  A  lightly  formed,  symmetrical  figure — a  pure,  healthy 
nature,  and  the  glad  activity  that  arises  from  it ;  an  unembar 
rassed  care  for  daily  necessities,  with  all  these  she  was  endowed. 
The  observation  of  these  qualities  was  always  agreeable  to  me, 
and  I  always  sought  the  society  of  those  who  possessed 
them." 

Yes — we  shall  have  all  the  gentlemen  on  our  side  when  we 
venture  to  think  domestic  employments  suited  to  women  of  all 
fortunes — to  universal  womanhood,  indeed.  So  we  insist  that 
Katherine  was  happier,  when,  with  less  intervention  of  servants, 
she  took  upon  herself  a  certain  share  of  the  daily  recurring  du 
ties.  Especially  with  regard  to  her  son  did  she  find  her  happi 
ness  increased  by  discarding  much  of  the  hireling  aid  she  had 
for  a  while  been  persuaded  to  think  necessary.  Nature,  no 
longer  repressed  by  stupid  conventions,  sprang  up  free  and  joy 
ous  in  the  heart  of  the  young  mother,  and  yielded  all  that 
wealth  of  tender,  indescribable,  but  most  precious  joys  which 
so  richly  repays  the  thousand  cares  and  sacrifices  of  maternity. 
In  short  if  the  Ellis  sunshine  seemed  to  the  world  without  to 
be  somewhat  obscured,  it  was  only  because  the  radiance  was 


THE    ISLAND    STORY.  199 

concentrated  within       To  those   most   concerned  it  certainly 
seemed  doubled. 

"  But  there  was  no  splendor,  and  it  is  in  vain  to  preach  that 
splendor  is  undesirable."  Cela  depend.  Splendor  is  of  various 
kinds.  We  talk  sometimes  of  splendid  talents,  and  we  bow  be 
fore  them  ;  and  we  think  of  splendid  goodness,  though  we  may 
use  another  epithet.  Neither  of  these  was  excluded  from  the 
new  regime.  But  in  ordinary  acceptation,  splendor  is  the  result 
of  lavish  expenditure.  Was  that  lacking  ?  To  say  nothing  of 
the  gift  to  George — a  gift  which  he  firmly  determined  should 
prove  only  a  loan,  but  which  was  nevertheless  a  free  gift  from 
the  givers — what  else  the  Ellises  bestowed,  by  secret  and  open 
channels,  would  have  kept  up  the  old  dazzle,  and  saved  the 
world  the  trouble  of  all  its  conjectures.  Uncle  Ashmore  fell 
into  some  trouble  through  that  good  son-in-law  of  his — perhaps 
Mary's  bridal  gifts  had  induced  extravagant  notions  into  her 
househouldry,  but  this  we  doubt,  for  Aunt  Susan's  daughter 
would  not  be  likely  to  go  far  wrong.  Certainly  some  clouds 
seemed  impending  over  that  happy  family. 

Katherine  wept  at  the  thought.  "It  will  be  so  hard  for  dear 
Uncle  and  Aunt  Ashmore  in  their  old  days" — she  said. 

Mr.  Ellis  only  laughed.     His  wife  looked  up,  astonished. 

"  Don't  you  know,  dear  Kate,"  said  the  quiet  man,  "  that  it 
would  hardly  require  more  than  what  your  shawls  cost  only  a 
few  years  ago,  to  free  your  uncle  from  his  embarrassments? 
And  don't  you  know  that  not  buying  the  shawls  and  fifty  other 
things  that  gave  us  no  real  pleasure,  leaves  us  plenty  of  money 
to  do  as  we  like  with  ?" 

Katherine's  eyes  grew  larger  at  this,  and  her  husband  contin 
ued  ; 


200  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  dearest,  for  not  having  told  you  this 
before  ;  for  having  allowed  you  to  think  our  present  moderate 
style  of  living  really  necessary  in  prudence.  When  you  proposed 
the  change,  in  your  tender  solicitude  for  George,  I  could  hardly 
refrain  from  assuring  you  at  once  that  I  could  and  would  do  all 
you  wished,  without  the  need  of  any  marked  alteration  in  our 
mode  of  life.  But  the  desire  that  you  should  try  something 
which  I  earnestly  believed  more  congenial  to  your  fine,  true 
nature,  was  too  tempting  !  I  allowed  you  to  regulate  matters 
as  you  chose  ;  always  intending,  as  soon  as  you  had  had  time 
for  a  fair  trial,  and  an  opportunity  to  know  your  real  tastes,  to 
restore  you  to  the  former  position  and  way  of  life  if  you  deliber 
ately  preferred  it.  A  thousand  times  I  have  been  on  the  point 
of  saying  this  to  you,  but  I  confess  you  have  seemed  to  me  so 
much  more  at  home — so  much  more  my  own — so  much  more  the 
Katherine  of  my  dearest  dreams,  in  your  simpler  and  more 
natural  form,  that  I  could  not,  for  very  selfishness,  find  courage 
to  offer  you  a  return  to  the  old  grandeur — cold  and  sterile  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  and  threatening  a  gradual  obscuration  of  my 
wife's  best  graces.  But  I  offer  it  now,  and  without  a  shadow 
of  hesitation,  for  it  was  not  the  condition  I  feared,  but  your 
estimation  of  it,  and  the  habits  of  thought  it  seemed  likely  to 
induce.  Now — with  your  present  views  and  objects,  and  your 
past  experience — I  have  no  fears,  and  if  you  decide  to  return  to 
square,  or  a  similar  house,  I  shall  bo  entirely  content." 

Katherine  did  not  receive  this  confession  with  indifference. 
For  a  moment  she  felt  something  akin  to  resentment.  Had  she 
then  been  allowed  to  make  sacrifices  for  nothing  ?  Had  she 
been  treated  like  a  child,  who  must  be  deceived  into  being 
good? 


THE  ISLAND  STORY.  201 

But  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  The  next  brought  more 
gracious  thoughts.  One  look  at  her  husband — one  thought  of 
what  he  was — of  his  patience,  his  unselfishness,  his  devotion  to 
her — cleared  her  mental  horizon  at  once.  Light  from  his  cha 
racter  seemed  to  irradiate  her  whole  path,  past  and  future. 

With  a  gush  of  grateful  tears  she  threw  herself  into  his 
arms — 

"  Forgive  you,  Henry  I"  she  said  ;  "  forgive  you  for  your  love 
and  goodness — for  making  me  so  happy  ?  What  gentler 
method  could  you  have  devised  for  awakening  me  from  my 
dream  ?  Dear  husband — dearest  friend — I  owe  myself  to  you. 
Love  and  truth  have  revealed  life  to  me.  How  could  you  have 
answered  it  to  yourself  if  you  had  let  me  sink  into  nothingness 
under  delusions  so  fatal  1" 

"I  know  not,"  he  replied  ;  "yet  I  confess  I  was  completely 
at  a  loss.  Your  convictions  were  brought  about  by  means 
wholly  beyond  any  power  of  mine.  We  cannot  devise  and  cre 
ate  circumstances  to  suit  our  wishes.  Happy  those  who  are 
willing  to  use  such  as  are  offered  by  a  benign  Providence. 
Still,  dearest  Kate,  remember  I  am  ready  and  willing  to  enlarge 
our  way  of  life  whenever  you  desire  it  ;  there  may  be  very  good 
reasons  for  doing  so." 

"  I  shall  never  desire  it,"  she  replied,  "  for  there  is  a  sense  of 
weariness  and  disgust  comes  over  me  whenever  I  think  of  the  life 
we  used  to  lead.  Not  that  I  pretend  to  have  grown  indifferent 
to  wealth,  or  the  privileges  it  buys,  or  the  consequence  it  gives. 
I  love  to  spend  money  as  well  as  ever,  but  spending  it  without 
display,  and  for  objects  which  the  world  cannot  appreciate, 
seems  to  me  a  higher  pleasure  than  any  that  show  ever  gave  me. 
Of  mere  luxury  we  have  enough — all  that  we  can  really  enjoy  j 


202  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

for  I  have  discovered  that  whatever  of  it  we  provide  beyond  a 
certain  limit  is  not  for  ourselves,  and  becomes  a  burthen.  If, 
with  abundant  means,  you  were  disposed  to  hoard,"  she  added, 
smiling,  "I  believe  I  should  be  a  very  bad  wife  ;  but  as  you 
love  to  spend  too — why,  it  seems  to  me  we  shall  be  very  happy 
as  we  are." 


"Is  that  all  ?"  said  Miss  Grove,  when  the  reader  stopped. 

"What  more  would  you  have?"  said  Mr.  Berry  ;  "  is  not 
every  body  very  happy,  and  haven't  we  made  out  our  case  ?" 

"  But  I  thought  you  would  have  told  us  more  about  George 
— how  he  behaved,  and  whether  he  ever  fell  in  love." 

"  0  you  know  it  would  be  long  before  it  was  proper  for 
George  to  fall  in  love,  and  when  he  did  there  would  be  a  great 
deal  to  be  said  about  it  ;  we  must  reserve  that  for  other  sum 
mer  hours  in  the  House  of  Industry." 

"I  consider  the  permanence  of  the  young  wife's  conversion  so 
ticklish  a  topic,"  said  Mr.  Ingoldsby,  with  his  usual  disposition 
to  a  certain  quizzical  skepticism,  "  that  I  hold  you  very  wise  to 
stop  where  you  do.  The  brother's  reformation  I  can  believe  in, 
for  it  is  easier  to  forsake  vice  than  folly." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  papa's  creed — only  pretended,  though — 
about  women  ?"  said  Elinor  ;  "he  often  repeats  these  lines  : 

'  Is  It  that  for  such  outward  ornament 
Was  lavished  on  their  sex,  that  inward  gifts 
Were  left,  for  haste,  unfinished— judgment  scant, 
Capacity  not  rais'd  to  apprehend 
Or  value  what  is  best 
In  choice,  but  oftest  to  affect  the  wrong  ?'  " 

"  I  could  bury  those  lines  so  deep  under  a  mountain  of  oppos- 


THE   ISLAND  STORY.  203 

ite  ones,  from  poets  of  all  time,"  said  Mr.  Berry,  "  that  it  would 
take  another  summer  to  find  them.  But  tell  us  whether  we 
have  proved  our  position  ?" 

"  Hardly,"  said  Mr.  Ingoldsby  ;  "  for  after  all,  you  have  been 
obliged  to  resolve  Beauty  into  Yirtue." 

"  Not  at  all — we  have  only  shown  that  Beauty  and  Yirtue 
are  a  twin  growth,  and  cannot  be  separated  without  violence  to 
Nature." 

"  And  do  you  feel  entitled  to  end  with  a  Q.  E.  D.?" 

"  We  must  leave  the  decision  of  that  question  with  our  read 
ers." 


WOMEN  OF  THE  REVOLUTION, 

CONSIDERING  how  highly  every  age  has  prized  the  history  and 
biography  of  previous  times,  it  is  matter  of  surprise  that  there 
are  not  always  found  those  who  systematically  record  passing 
events  and  delineate  living  characters.  Fame  is,  indeed,  in  a 
good  degree,  an  affair  of  distance.  It  is  difficult  for  friends, 
associates,  or  contemporaries  to  be  sure  that  actions  or  events, 
which  arise  from  the  present  condition  of  things,  will  seem  as 
important  to  posterity  as  to  those  who  have  an  immediate  inte 
rest  in  the  emergencies  which  gave  them  birth.  But  the  desire 
to  know  what  has  been  done  and  said  by  those  who  have  gone 
before  us — who  helped  to  prepare  the  world  for  the  coming  of 
our  day — is  so  universal,  and  we  are  so  often  vexed  to  think  we 
know  so  little,  that  it  seems  wonderful  that  mere  sympathy 
should  not  lead  us  to  prepare  pleasant  things  of  this  sort  for  the 
people  whose  pioneers  we  are.  How  delicious  are  the  bits  of 
private  history  now  and  then  fished  up  from  the  vast  sea  of 
things  forgotten  1  How  we  pounce  upon  some  quaint  diary, 
some  old  hoard  of  seemingly  insignificant  letters,  some  enlight 
ening  passage  in  an  old  author,  who  little  suspected  his  blunt 
quill  of  playing  the  part  of  an  elucidator  of  history  !  What 
could  repay  the  world  for  the  withdrawal  from  its  knowledge  of 
the  straight-forward  fibs  of  Sir  John  Mandeville,  illustrative  as 


WOMEN   OF    THE    REVOLUTION.  205 

they  are  of  the  state  of  general  credulity  in  his  day  ?  Or  of 
Pepys's  Diary,  or  Horace  Walpole's,  or  Madame  de  Sevigne's 
letters,  or  Bozzy's  inestimable  jottings  ? 

Each  and  every  generation  lives  in  "  a  very  remarkable  age," 
and  it  is  obviously  a  high  moral  duty  of  somebody  to  write  it 
down,  circumstantially,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  are  destined, 
through  its  preparing  influence,  to  enter  upon  experiences  still 
more  remarkable.  Yet  when  we  would  seek  materials  for  the 
minute  private  history  of  a  time,  in  the  bosom  of  whose  com 
mon  life  were  contained  the  characterizing  elements  of  this 
great  empire — as  the  rich  satin  folds  of  the  tulip  are  traceable 
in  a  bulb  which  looks  very  like  that  humble  piece  of  domesticity, 
an  onion — we  are  obliged  to  search  as  if  for  the  proverbial 
needle  ;  to  dive  into  family  records,  dim  with  the  dust  of  time, 
or  useless  from  the  suspicious  coloring  of  pride  or  affection  ;  to 
call  upon  the  East  and  the  West,  the  North  and  the  South,  to 
rummage  the  memory-garrets  of  their  "oldest  inhabitants  ;"  in 
short,  to  pick,  as  it  were,  from  thorns  and  briers  by  the  way 
side,  stray  locks  of  the  material  which  should  have  been  carded 
and  spun  by  the  growers,  ready  for  the  weaving  skill  of  the 
present  day. 

All  honor,  then,  to  the  patriotic  labors  of  those  to  whom  we 
owe  the  gathering  of  these  fragments  !  Honor  to  Mrs.  Ellet, 
who  has  alone  done  for  our  Revolutionary  mothers  what  so 
many  men  have  been  zealous  in  doing  for  their  own  sex,  ever 
since  the  national  struggle  was  ended. 

No  one  perhaps  will  question,  that  the  women  of  the  Revo 
lution  bore  a  far  larger  share  of  its  actual  hardships  and  suffer 
ings  than  the  men.  The  life  afield,  shorn  though  it  may  be  of 
home  comforts,  has  its  poetry,  its  inspirations,  its  heroic  element, 


206  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

for  compensation  of  its  ills.  The  very  physical  influence  of 
duties  performed  in  the  open  air — of  excitement,  exercise,  vari 
ety,  and  liberty,  is  enlivening  and  invigorating  to  mind  and  body 
reciprocally.  Military  discipline, — the  stimulus  of  command 
and  of  subordination,  of  regularity,  of  enterprise,  of  endurance, 
— has  a  tendency  to  maintain  the  spirits  in  a  somewhat  equable, 
if  not  elated  state,  and  to  keep  sad  personal  thoughts  at  bay. 
Activity  having  a  direct  bearing  upon  the  great  object  in  view, 
keeps  up  the  heart  more  easily  and  more  steadily  than  quieter 
service  can.  It  is,  indeed,  an  attainment  in  philosophy  to  have, 
and  to  be  consoled  and  sustained  by,  the  feeling  that 

"  They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait" 

To  do  is  the  great  pleasure  of  life  ;  to  suffer,  or  to  be  passive,  is 
a  sustained  effort  of  self-denial. 

It  was  to  this  difficult  service  that  the  women  of  the  Revolu 
tion  were  called.  The  hard  labor  of  waiting,  in  patient  anxi 
ety  and  a  composure  that  did  not  exclude  agony,  while  hus 
bands,  sous,  fathers,  brothers,  went  in  search  of  danger,  called 
forth  fortitude  and  faith  far  beyond  that  required  for  night- 
watches  under  snowy  skies,  or  forced  marches  without  shoes. 
To  follow,  with  heart  and  eye,  day  after  day,  the  ebbing  life  of 
a  darling  child,  whose  father  was  far  away  and  unconscious  of 
the  blow  that  hung  over  him,  drew  more  severely  upon  the 
springs  of  life  and  hope  than  a  wound  in  a  skirmish  or  a  baffled 
enterprise.  The  women's  lot,  in  those  times,  was  the  ingenious 
prolongation  of  torture  with  which  the  savage  takes  care  not  to 
kill — torture  that  would  nerve  the  impatient  soul  to  pray  for  a 
bullet,  rather  than  to  dread  it.  To  prepare  a  loved  one  for  the 
camp  and  the  battle,  to  see  him  depart,  yet  withhold  the  pro- 


WOMEN   OF    THE    REVOLUTION.  201 

test  that  nature  must  prompt,  were  enough  ;  how  much  more 
was  it  to  combat  his  own  misgivings  at  the  thought  of  leaving 
lonely  and  unprotected  his  dearer  than  life  ;  to  nerve  his  heart 
for  the  strife  by  a  deep  sympathy  in  his  sense  of  wrong  ;  to 
send  him  forth,  in  the  spirit  of  the  Greek  matron,  with  a  charge 
to  return  with  his  shield  or  upon  it !  The  noble  qualities  called 
forth  by  circumstances  such  as  these,  excite  the  imagination  and 
thrill  the  heart,  till  we  are  in  danger  of  forgetting  the  hateful- 
ness  of  war.  A  young  girl  throws  herself  between  a  threaten 
ing  pistol  and  her  father's  body,  and  by  her  intrepidity  preserves 
him  from  butchery  ;  and  again,  when  she  is  threatened  with 
death  if  she  refuses  to  give  information  of  the  course  taken  by 
a  party  of  her  countrymen,  bares  her  bosom  to  the  shot  of 
a  brutal  marauder,  who  is  only  prevented  from  murder  by  the 
shame  or  the  humanity  of  a  comrade  who  strikes  up  his  weapon. 
A  wife,  who  has  seen  her  husband  shot  down  by  a  musket  level 
led  over  her  own  shoulder  as  she  entreated  for  his  life,  after 
wards  keeps  watch  over  his  blood-stained  corpse  in  a  lonely 
house,  in  the  midst  of  enemies,  resolute  to  protect  the  precious 
remains  from  further  outrage.  Can  men  do  these  things  ? 

A  war  of  invasion,  whose  success  depended  upon  the  devasta 
tion  it  might  be  able  to  carry  into  private  homes,  fell,  of  course, 
very  heavily  upon  women,  and  awakened  a  spirit  and  called 
forth  a  resistance  which  are  habitually  foreign  to  the  sex.  The 
peculiarly  feminine  quality  of  fortitude  was  warmed  by  excite 
ment  and  outrage  into  courage  ;  a  sense  of  responsibility,  and 
the  necessity  of  caring  for  the  absent,  produced  prudence  and 
awakened  ingenuity  ;  all  frivolous  interests  were  thrown  out  of 
sight  by  the  continual  presence  of  important  duties  ;  in  short, 
woman  was  forced,  by  the  dread  power  of  necessity,  into  the 


208  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

exercise  of  those  noble  qualities  with  which  her  Maker  endowed 
her  when  he  gave  her  to  be  the  helpmeet  of  man, — qualities  too 
generally  allowed  to  lie  dormant  under  the  circumstances  of 
common  life,  or  suppressed  because  man,  the  ruler  of  her  des 
tiny,  approves  rather  the  lighter  graces  which  threaten  no  com 
petition  in  his  own  peculiar  sphere  of  self-complacency.  The 
impression  left  by  this  simple  record  of  woman's  part  in  the 
revolutionary  struggle  is  that  of  the  general  tone  of  feeling 
rather  than  of  particular  incidents  of  heroism  ;  we  remember 
not  so  much  that  particular  women  did  or  suffered  particular 
things,  as  that  the  whole  tone  of  female  society  was  raised. 
The  standard  of  behavior  was  a  heroic  one  ;  the  emulation  was 
no  longer  who  should  be  most  fastidious  and  dependent ;  who 
should  act  the  part  of  "the  tender  and  delicate  woman,  which 
would  not  adventure  to  set  the  sole  of  her  foot  upon  the  ground 
for  delicateness  and  tenderness," — so  favorite  a  role  ordinarily, 
that  women  will  endure  much  rather  than  appear  able  to  endure 
any  thing  ;  but  who  should  utterly  put  away  self,  forget  privi 
leges,  forego  indulgences,  encounter  dangers  ;  who  should  bind 
up  wounds,  walk  noisome  hospitals,  convey  intelligence,  defend 
the  obnoxious.  It  seems,  truly,  to  have  been  woman  who  held 
the  keys  of  the  precious  reservoir  of  Hope  from  which  was 
drawn  strength  to  endure  to  the  end.  Invaders,  far  away  from 
their  wives  and  daughters,  may  fight  perfunctorily  and  fail  ; 
men  drawn  up  in  defence  of  their  own  firesides,  and  receiving 
ever  new  supplies  of  energy  and  assurance  from  the  home  stores, 
are  irresistible. 

But  it  is  time  to  turn  from  our  general  view  of  the  influence 
of  woman  upon  the  great  contest,  to  the  contemplation  of  par" 
ticular  characters  and  incidents.  And  we  begin  naturally  with 


WOMEN    OF    THE   REVOLUTION.  209 

the  mother  of  Washington,  who  struck  the  key-note  of  this  high 
harmony  when  she  gave  her  faultless  son  to  his  country  without 
a  tremor  ;  and  who  afterwards  uttered  as  a  comment  upon  the 
homage  offered  him  by  a  grateful  nation — "  George  was  always 
a  good  boy."  The  Spartan  simplicity  and  dignity  of  this  matron 
make  her  a  very  classic.  If  without  injury  to  the  sterner  fea 
tures  of  this  character,  it  were  possible  to  infuse  among  its 
elements  some  of  the  lighter  feminine  graces,  we  could  find  it  in 
our  hearts  to  advise  our  young  countrywomen  to  study  it  as  the 
type  of  American  womanhood. 

In  the  traits  of  many  of  the  heroines  of  the  earlier  days  of  the 
Revolution,  we  find  a  remarkable  union  of  strength  and  softness, 
courage  and  refinement,  simplicity  and  shrewdness,  the  fruit  of 
patriotic  sentiments  engrafted  on  the  habits  and  acquirements 
of  aristocratic  society.  Mrs.  Reed,  Mrs.  Schuyler,  Mrs.  War 
ren,  Mrs.  Montgomery,  and  many  others,  were  of  this  class  of 
women.  Their  adventures  are  less  striking  ;  but  their  charac 
ters  no  less  admirable,  than  those  of  women  whom  circumstances 
brought  into  more  conspicuous  relation  with  the  war.  Mrs. 
Knox  was  perhaps  the  most  splendid  of  these  ladies,  both  on 
account  of  her  elegance  of  person  and  manner,  and  the  strength 
and  perseverance  of  her  character.— Her  position  in  society  was 
next  to  that  of  Mrs.  Washington,  ever  her  intimate  friend  ;  and 
the  aged  officers  who  still  survive,  and  love  to  talk  of  the  scenes 
and  adventures  of  that  day,  never  fail  to  speak  of  Mrs.  Knox, 
of  her  beauty,  her  wit,  her  gay  and  free  manners,  and  the  kindly 
and  hospitable  manner  in  which  she  knew  how  to  entertain 
guests  of  every  degree. 

Like  other  women  of  marked  intellectual  power,  who  are  ren 
dered  conspicuous  by  station,   Mrs.   Knox  excited  envy,  and 
14 


210  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

became  occasionally  the  subject  of  severe  and  ungenerous 
comment.  Her  very  frankness,  the  result  of  conscious  strength 
and  honesty,  was  turned  against  her  by  petty  minds.  Thus,  a 
traditional  speech  of  hers,  in  the  decline  of  life,  purporting  that, 
if  she  could  live  her  life  over  again,  she  would  be  "more  of  a 
wife,  more  of  a  mother,  more  of  a  woman,"  than  she  had  been, 
has  been  interpreted  as  an  expression  of  remorse  ;  while,  in 
truth,  it  is  no  insignificant  proof  of  virtue.  It  was  doubtless 
prompted  by  the  spirit  of  humility  which  implies  a  recognition 
of  the  highest  and  purest  motives  of  conduct. 

Lest  this  remark  and  others,  exceedingly  natural  and  praise 
worthy,  currently  ascribed  to  Mrs.  Knox,  should  be  miscon 
strued  to  the  disadvantage  of  a  distinguished  woman,  whose 
candor  and  modesty  were  enhanced,  in  the  decline  of  life,  by  the 
adoption  of  a  religious  standard  of  action,  we  venture  to  insert 
a  passage  or  two  from  a  private  letter,  written  by  a  still  surviv 
ing  daughter,  who  feels  a  daughter's  interest  in  the  memory  of 
a  beloved  mother,  while  she  carefully  disclaims  all  wish  to  make 
one  so  loved  pass  for 

"The  faultless  monster  whom  the  world  ne'er  saw.'* 

"I  claim  for  my  mother  no  perfection  of  character  ;  she  un 
doubtedly  had  her  share  of  the  failings  which  attach  to  us  all. 
I  am  very  conscious  that  the  partiality  of  friends,  and  particu 
larly  of  children,  is  too  apt  to  give  a  brighter  coloring  to  the 
character  of  those  who  were  so  dear  to  them  than  truth  will 
warrant.  In  this  case,  however,  I  would  say,  that  while  ample 
justice  is  done,  as  I  think,  to  my  mother's  intellectual  powers, 
which  were  undoubtedly  of  a  superior  order,  and  gave  her  a 
commanding  influence  in  society,  it  may  not  perhaps  be  equally 
acknowledged  that  she  had  heart  as  well  as  mind.  Those  who 
knew  her  intimately  would,  I  firmly  believe,  bear  full  testimony 


THE   WOMEN   OF   THE   REVOLUTION.  211 

to  the  warmth  of  her  domestic  attachments.  A  more  devoted 
wife  and  mother  I  never  knew.  The  keenest  sorrows  of  her  I'.fe 
sprung  from  this  source.  It  was  the  w  11  of  God  to  take  from 
her  nine  of  her  twelve  children,  previous  to  the  still  greater  trial 
of  parting  with  the  husband  of  her  youth,  the  friend  and  com- 
pan.on  of  many  eventful  years,  and  many  scenes  of  joy  and 
sorrow  ;  and  the  anguish  she  endured  on  these  trying  occasions 
gave  abundant  evidence  that  her  heart  was  feelingly  alive  to  the 
tender  and  sacred  claims  of  wife  and  mother.  Yet  I  think  it 
very  probable,  that  in  the  retrospect  of  a  long  life  she  may  have 
seen  much  to  regret — many  duties  imperfectly  performed — 
instances  innumerable  in  which  a  different  course  ought  to  have 
been  pursued.  Feelings  like  these  I  have  often  heard  her  ex 
press,  and  can  now  most  fully  sympathize  with  Her  lot  was 
cast  in  the  midst  of  all  that  was  most  attractive  in  our  land  ; 
yet  I  do  not  believe  in  its  busiest  scenes  she  ever  lost  sight  of 
her  more  private  and  ind  spensable  duties." 

After  the  conclusion  of  the  war,  and  when  the  services  of 
General  Knox  were  no  longer  required  by  the  country,  he  re- 
tired  to  a  splendid  country  residence  in  Maine,  where  his  wife 
assisted  him  in  dispensing  a  hospitality  such  as  this  country  has 
seldom  seen.  It  is  said  to  have  been  not  unusual  with  them  to 
kill  an  ox  and  twenty  sheep  on  Monday  morning,  to  be  con 
sumed  in  the  course  of  the  week  by  a  concourse  of  guests  for 
whom  a  hundred  beds  were  daily  made.  Among  the  visitors 
entertained  here  were  the  Duke  de  Liancourt,  who  was,  as  he 
said,  heir  to  three  Dukedoms,  yet  without  a  suit  of  clothes  to 
his  back,  until  supplied  by  General  Knox  ;  Talleyrand,  who 
pretended  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  learn  English,  while 
he  had  two  masters  and  was  believed  to  understand  the  language 
thoroughly  ;  Lafayette,  who  remembered  to  inquire  for  his  friend 
Mrs.  Knox,  when  he  visited  this  country  as  "  the  nation's 


212  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

guest ;"  and  many  others,  who  have  figured  on  the  stage  of  his 
tory.  At  Boston,  Louis  Philippe  and  his  brothers,  the  Dukes 
de  Montpensier  and  de  Charolais,  had  been  frequent  visitors  at 
the  house  of  General  Knox,  and  found  solace  in  the  friendship 
of  its  fair  mistress  ;  and  at  all  times  and  in  all  places  where 
this  happy  couple  resided,  their  society  was  sought  by  the 
great,  the  patriotic,  and  the  distinguished. 

The  character  and  adventures  of  the  Baroness  de  R'edesel 
are  well  known,  and  as  she  did  not  belong  to  the  patriot  side, 
we  shall  have  nothing  to  say  of  her  here.  Not  that  we  can 
notice  each  of  the  heroines  of  the  time,  even  by  a  word  ;  we 
shall  be  obliged  to  content  ourselves  with  recalling  a  few  of 
those  whose  position  or  adventures  render  them  peculiarly 
interesting  or  worthy  of  contemplation. 

Lydia  Darrah  was  a  Quakeress  of  Philadelphia,  who,  while 
entertaining  perforce  a  party  of  the  enemy,  played  the  eavesdrop 
per,  and  used  the  information  she  obtained  at  the  keyhole  to 
save  the  Americans  a  surprise  at  White  Marsh.  Those  who 
approve  of  war  cannot  object  to  this  mode  of  obtaining  intelli 
gence  ;  and  the  sagacity,  courage  and  perseverance  of  the  good 
woman  certainly  deserve  all  the  praise  bestowed  upon  them 
How  Lydia  stood  with  the  Quaker  meeting,  after  this  exploit, 
we  are  not  informed. 

"The  celebrated  Miss  Franks"  was  noted  for  "the  keenness 
of  her  irony,  and  her  readiness  at  repartee  ;"  but  the  sharp 
speeches  recorded  of  her  are  lacking  in  the  delicacy  which  should 
distinguish  feminine  wit.  Mrs.  Ellet's  sketch  of  this  loyalist 
lady,  converted  late  in  life  to  more  patriotic  predilections,  is 
enlivened  by  an  account  of  the  "  Mischianza,"  a  festival  given 
by  the  British  officers  in  Philadelphia,  as  a  parting  compliment 


THE   WOMEN    OF   THE   REVOLUTION.  213 

to  Sir  William  Howe,  on  his  departure  for  England,  when  he 
was  superseded  by  Sir  Henry  Clinton.  This  account  of  an 
American  festival  of  the  olden  time — one  of  the  very  few  for 
mally  recorded  in  our  annals,  is  especially  interesting,  from 
having  been  originally  written  by  Major  Andre,  who  contributed 
largely  to  the  more  poetical  portion  of  the  festival. 

"The  entertainment  was  given  on  the  18th  of  May,  1178.  It 
commenced  with  a  grand  regatta,  in  three  divisions.  In  the 
first  was  the  Ferret  galley,  on  board  of  which  were  several  gen 
eral  officers  and  ladies.  In  the  centre,  the  Hussar  galley  bore 
Sir  William  and  Lord  Howe,  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  their  suite, 
and  many  ladies.  The  Cornwallis  galley  brought  up  the  rear — 
General  Knyphausen  and  suite,  three  British  generals,  and 
ladies,  being  on  board.  On  each  quarter  of  these  galleys,  and 
forming  their  division,  were  five  flat  boats  lined  with  green  cloth, 
and  filled  with  ladies  and  gentlemen.  In  front  were  three  flat 
boats,  with  bands  of  music.  Six  barges  rowed  about  each 
flank,  to  keep  off  the  swarm  of  boats  in  the  river.  The  galleys 
were  dressed  in  colors  and  streamers  ;  the  ships  lying  at  anchor 
were  magnificently  decorated  ;  and  the  transport  ships  with 
colors  flying,  which  extended  in  a  line  the  whole  length  of  the 
city,  were  crowded,  as  well  as  the  wharves,  with  spectators. 
The  rendezvous  was  at  Knight's  wharf,  at  the  northern  extrem 
ity  of  the  city  The  company  embarked  at  half-past  four,  the 
three  divisions  moving  slowly  down  to  the  music.  Arrived 
opposite  Market  wharf,  at  a  signal  all  rested  on  their  oars,  and 
the  music  played  "  God  save  the  King,"  answered  by  three 
cheers  from  the  vessels.  The  landing  was  at  the  Old  Fort,  a 
little  south  of  the  town,  and  in  front  of  the  building  prepared 
for  the  company — a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  water.  This 
regatta  was  gazed  at  from  the  wharves  and  warehouses  by  all 
the  uninvited  population  of  the  city. 

"  When  the  general's  barge  pushed  for  shore,  a  salute  of 
seventeen  guns  was  fired  from  his  Majesty's  ship  Roebuck  ;  and, 


214  AUTUMN  HOLFR3 

after  an  interval,  seventeen  from  the  Vigilant.  The  procession 
advanced  through  an  avenue  formed  by  two  files  of  grenadiers, 
each  supported  by  a  line  of  light-horse.  The  avenue  led  to  a 
spacious  lawn,  lined  with  troops,  and  prepared  for  the  exhibit. on 
of  a  tilt  and  tournament.  The  music,  and  managers  with  favors 
of  white  aud  blue  ribboas  in  their  breasts,  led  the  way,  followed 
by  the  generals  and  the  rest  of  the  company. 

"  In  front,  the  building  bounded  the  view  through  a  vista 
formed  by  two  triumphal  arches  in  a  line  with  the  landing  place 
Two  pavilions,  with  rows  of  benches  rising  one  above  another, 
received  the  ladies,  while  the  gentlemen  ranged  themselves  on 
each  side.  On  the  front  seat  of  each  pavilion  were  seven  young 
ladies  as  princesses,  in  Turkish  habits,  and  wearing  in  their 
turbans  the  favors  meant  for  the  knights  who  contended.  The 
sound  of  trumpets  was  heard  in  the  distance  ;  and  a  band  of 
knights  in  ancient  habits  of  white  aud  red  silk,  mounted  on  gray 
horses  caparisoned  in  the  same  colors,  attended  by  squires  on 
foot,  heralds  and  trumpeters,  entered  the  lists.  Lord  Cathcart 
was  chief  of  these  knights  ;  and  appeared  in  honor  of  Miss 
Auchmuty.  One  of  his  esquires  bore  his  lance,  another  his 
shield  ;  and  two  black  slaves  in  blue  and  white  silk,  with  silver 
clasps  on  their  bare  necks  and  arms,  held  his  stirrups.  The 
band  made  the  circuit  of  the  square,  saluting  the  ladies,  and  then 
ranged  themselves  in  a  line  with  the  pavJion,  in  which  were  the 
ladies  of  their  device.  Their  herald,  after  a  flourish  of  trumpets, 
proclaimed  a  challenge  ;  asserting  the  superiority  of  the  ladies 
of  the  Blended  Rose,  in  wit,  beauty,  and  accomplishment,  and 
offering  to  prove  it  by  deeds  of  arms,  according  to  the  ancient 
laws  of  chivalry.  At  the  third  repetition  of  the  challenge, 
another  herald  and  trumpeters  advanced  from  the  other  side  of 
the  square,  dressed  in  black  and  orange,  and  proclaimed  defi 
ance  to  the  challengers,  in  the  name  of  the  knights  of  the 
Burning  mountain.  Captain  Watson,  the  chief,  appeared  in 
honor  of  Miss  Franks  ;  his  device — a  heart  with  a  wreath  of 
flowers  ;  his  motto — Love  and  Glory.  This  band  also  rode 


THE   WOMEN   OF    THE   REVOLUTION.  215 

round  the  lists,  and  drew  up  in  front  of  the  White  Knights. 
The  gauntlet  was  thrown  down  and  lifted  ;  the  encounter  took 
place.  After  the  fourth  encounter,  the  two  chiefs,  spurring  to 
the  centre,  fought  singly,  till  the  marshal  of  the  field  rushed 
between,  and  declared  that  the  ladies  of  the  Blended  Rose  and 
the  Burning  Mountain  were  satisfied  with  the  proofs  of  love  and 
valor  already  given,  and  commanded  their  knights  to  desist. 
The  bands  then  filed  off  in  different  directions,  saluting  the 
ladies  as  they  approached  the  pavilions. 

"  The  company  then  passed  m  procession  through  triumphal 
arches  built  in  the  Tuscan  order,  to  a  garden  in  front  of  the 
building,  and  thence  ascended  to  a  spacious  hall  painted  in  imi 
tation  of  Sienna  marble.  In  this  hall  and  apartment  adjoining, 
were  tea  and  refreshments  ;  and  the  knights,  kneeling,  received 
their  favors  from  the  ladies.  On  entering  the  room  appropri 
ated  for  the  faro  table,  a  cornucopia  was  seen  filled  with  fruit 
and  flowers  ;  another  appeared  in  goin<r  out,  shrunk,  reversed, 
and  empty.  The  next  advance  was  to  a  ball-room  painted  in 
pale  blue,  pannelled  with  gold,  with  dropping  festoons  of  flowers ; 
the  snrbase  pink,  with  drapery  festooned  in  blue.  Eighty-five 
mirrors,  decked  with  flowers  and  ribbons,  reflected  the  1  ght  from 
thirty-four  branches  of  wax  lights.  On  the  same  floor  were  four 
drawing-rooms  with  sideboards  of  refreshments,  also  decorated 
and  lighted  up.  The  dancing  continued  till  ten  ;  the  windows 
were  then  thrown  open,  and  the  fireworks  commenced  with  a 
magnificent  bouquet  of  rockets. 

"  At  twelve,  large  folding  doors,  which  had  hitherto  been 
concealed,  were  suddenly  thrown  open,  discovering  a  splendid 
and  spacious  saloon,  richly  painted,  and  brilliantly  illuminated  ; 
the  mirrors  and  branches  decorated,  as  a'.so  the  upper  table  ; 
which  was  set  out  —according  to  Major  Andre's  account — with 
four  hundred  and  thirty  covers,  and  twelve  hundred  dishes. 
When  supper  was  ended,  the  herald  and  trumpeters  of  the 
Blended  Rose  entered  the  saloon,  and  proclaimed  the  health  of 
the  king  and  royal  family — followed  by  that  of  the  knights  and 


216  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

ladies  ;  each  toast  being  accompanied  by  a  flourish  of  music. 
The  company  then  returned  to  the  ball-room,  and  the  dancing 
continued  t.ll  four  o'clock." 

How  faded  and  old  fashioned  all  this  looks  to  the  haughty 
eyes  of  the  present  generation,  when  no  one  goes  into  company 
intending  to  do  any  thing  but  criticise  others!  yet  it  makes  one's 
ancestors  appear  very  amiable.  Bonhommie  is  nearly  obsolete, 
for  it  requires  simplicity,  and  a  degree  of  confidence  in  others 
that  is  a  shield  against  ridicule.  One  thing  is  obvious,  such 
amusements  suppose  accomplished  people. 

This  entertainment  took  place  at  the  opening  of  the  spring 
which  followed  the  dreadful  winter  at  Valley  Forge.  After  this 
period,  the  scene  of  action  was  in  a  great  measure  changed  to 
the  southern  country,  and  the  war  took  a  more  romantic  char 
acter.  Savannah  was  surrendered  to  the  British  at  the  close  of 
1779,  and  on  the  12th  of  May,  1781,  Charleston  capitulated, 
and  was  occupied  by  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  who  from  that  centre 
of  operations  harrassed  the  surrounding  country  at  pleasure. 
The  bad  faith  of  the  British  commander,  by  means  of  which  one 
portion  of  the  inhabitants  were  terrified  into  adhesion  to  the 
crown,  nerved  the  hearts  and  arms  of  many  more,  who,  under 
every  disadvantage,  and  at  the  imminent  risk  of  all  they  held 
dearest,  commenced  a  partizan  and  skirmishing  warfare,  far  more 
wearing  and  distressing  than  the  pitched  battles  at  the  North, 
from  the  immediate  dangers  of  which,  at  least,  women  and  chil 
dren  and  helpless  age  were  safe.  Circumstances  like  these  nat 
urally  called  forth  a  kind  of  personal  heroism,  for. which  there  is 
little  field  in  regular  warfare.  Instances  not  unfrequcntly 
occurred,  when  all,  for  the  moment,  depended  on  the  courage, 
the  ingenuity,  the  firmness,  or  the  judgment  of  a  woman  ;  when 


THE   WOMEN   OF   THE   REVOLUTION.  217 

children  without  hesitation  risked  their  lives  at  the  call  of  duty 
or  affection  ;  when  the  negro  forgot  the  stupidity  which  his  mas 
ter  is  so  fond  of  imputing  to  him,  and  under  the  stimulus  of  love 
or  pity,  was  inspired  with  an  ingenuity  of  equivocation  or  a 
boldness  of  defence  quite  at  variance  with  his  supposed  charac 
ter.  The  comparative  simplicity  of  plantation  life  imparts  a 
healthful  tone  to  love  and  friendship,  and  depth  and  constancy 
to  all  the  domestic  affections  ;  and  we  love  to  think  of  the 
women  of  the  South  as  the  guardian  angels  of  their  firesides  or 
their  palmetto  shades,  ever  ready,  with  sweet  influences,  to  ward 
off,  as  far  as  human  creatures  may,  the  curse  of  slavery,  and 
meliorate,  as  only  gentle  creatures  can,  its  sting. 

Mrs.  Gibbes,  the  first  lady  on  the  Southern  list,  may  serve  as 
a  type  of  one  class  of  the  heroic  women  of  the  South.  With  the 
quiet  energy  of  a  veteran  commander,  she  prepared  her  house  for 
the  reccpt.on  of  the  invaders,  after  they  had  already  surrounded 
it,  and  that  closely.  She  did  not  conquer,  but  she  disarmed  the 
enemy,  by  opening  the  front  door  when  all  was  ready,  and  show 
ing  the  majestic  form  of  her  invalid  husband,  helpless  in  his 
great  arm-chair,  and  surrounded  only  by  women  and  children. 
And  when  her  beautiful  plantation  was  given  up  to  ruthless  pil 
lage,  and  the  officers  became  her  compulsory  guests,  she  contin 
ued  to  preside  at  the  head  of  her  table,  awing  the  intruders  into 
respect  and  decent  order  by  the  power  of  her  presence.  Flying 
afterwards  in  the  midst  of  a  heavy  fire  from  the  river,  and  hav 
ing  under  her  charge,  with  the  helpless  husband,  sixteen,  child 
ren, — her  own  and  those  of  her  sister — she  discovers  on  reach 
ing  the  neighboring  plantation,  towards  which  their  fugitive 
steps  were  directed,  that  a  little  boy — one  of  her  sister's — is 
missing. 


218  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

"  The  roar  of  the  distant  guns  was  still  heard,  breaking  at 
short  intervals  the  deep  silence  of  the  night.  The  chilly  rain 
was  falling,  and  the  darkness  was  profound.  Yet  the  thought 
of  abandoning  the  helpless  boy  to  destruction  was  agony  to  the 
hearts  of  his  relatives.  In  this  extremity,  the  self-devotion  of  a 
young  girl  interposed  to  save  him.  Mary  Anna,  the  eldest 
daughter  of  Mrs.  Gibbes — then  only  thirteen  years  of  age, 
determined  to  venture  back,  in  spite  of  the  fearful  peril,  alone- 
The  mother  dared  not  oppose  her  noble  resolution,  which  seemed 
indeed  an  inspiration  of  heaven  ;  and  she  was  permitted  to  go. 
Hastening  along  the  path  with  all  the  speed  of  which  she  was 
capable,  she  reached  the  house,  still  in  the  undisturbed  possess 
ion  of  the  enemy  ;  and  entreated  permission  from  the  sentinel  to 
enter  ;  persisting,  in  spite  of  refusal,  till  by  earnest  importunity 
of  supplication,  she  gained  her  object.  Searching  anxiously 
through  the  house,  she  found  the  child  in  a  room  in  a  third 
story,  and  lifting  him  joyfully  in  her  arms,  carried  him  down,  and 
fled  with  him  to  the  spot  where  her  anxious  parents  were  await 
ing  her  return.  The  shot  still  flew  thickly  around  her,  frequently 
throwing  up  the  earth  in  her  way  ;  but  protected  by  the  Provi 
dence  that  watches  over  innocence,  she  joined  the  rest  of  the 
family  in  safety." 

Mrs.  Martha  Bratton,  beginning  her  career  of  heroism  by 
defying  the  brutal  Huck,  at  the  head  of  his  cavalry,  and  per 
sisting  in  her  refusal  to  say  a  word  that  should  endanger  her 
husband's  safety,  finished  it  by  blowing  up  a  depot  of  powder 
just  as  the  enemy  was  approaching  it. 

"The  officer  in  command,  irritated  to  fury,  demanded  who  had 
dared  to  perpetrate  such  an  act,  and  threatened  instant  and 
severe  vengeance  upon  the  culprit.  The  intrepid  woman  to 
whom  he  owed  his  disappointment,  answered  for  herself.  '  It 
was  I  who  did  it,'  she  replied.  '  Let  the  consequence  be  what 


THE  WOMEN    OF   THE   REVOLUTION.  219 

it  will,  1  glory  in  having  prevented  the  mischief  contemplated  by 
the  enemies  of  my  country.' " 

Mrs.  Thomas  was  of  similar  spirit  ;  and  we  might  enumerate 
a  host  more,  if  the  South  were  not  so  rich  in  heroines.  Miss 
Langstou,  a  girl  of  sixteen,  already  under  British  ban  for  having 
been  more  than  suspected  of  giving  private  information  to  her 
countrymen,  sets  out  on  foot,  alone  at  night,  to  cross  a  deep 
river  in  order  to  warn  her  brother  and  his  associates  of  a  threat 
ened  attack. 

"  She  entered  the  water  ;  but  when  in  the  middle  of  the  ford, 
became  bewildered,  and  knew  not  which  direction  to  take.  The 
hoarse  rush  of  the  waters,  which  were  up  to  her  neck — the 
blackness  of  the  night — the  utter  solitude  around  her — the 
uncertainty  lest  the  next  step  should  ingulph  her  past  help,  con 
fused  her  ;  and  losing  in  a  degree  her  self-possession,  she  wan 
dered  for  some  time  in  the  channel,  without  knowing  whither  to 
turn  her  steps.  But  the  energy  of  a  resolute  will,  under  the 
care  of  Providence,  sustained  her." 

Mary  Slocumb,  the  wife  of  a  lieutenant  of  rangers,  who  was 
absent  with  a  party  on  duty  when  Tarleton  took  possession  of 
his  plantation,  had  all  the  spirit  of  border  chivalry, — that  of  the 
Ladye  of  Branksome  herself, — 

"Through  me  no  friend  shall  meet  his  doom; 
Hera,  \vhile  I  live,  no  foe  finds  room  t" 

In  the  war  of  words  she  was  decidedly  too  much  for  Colonel 
Tarleton,  who  gave  his  orders  for  scouring  the  country  all  the 
more  venomously  in  consequence  of  the  defiant  tone  of  her 
answers  to  his  searching  questions,  and  her  biting  allusions  to 
his  own  ill-fortune  at  the  battle  of  the  Cowpens.  A  most  stir- 


220  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

ring  account  of  the  various  dangers  and  escapes  of  the  daring 
lieutenant  and  his  family  would  grace  our  page  but  for  its  too 
great  length  ;  we  pass  on,  therefore,  to  a  later  occurrence, 
which  includes  a  personal  exploit  of  the  lady.  The  country  had 
risen  en  masse  to  oppose  the  passage  of  the  royal  troops,  who 
were  hurrying  to  join  their  standard  at  Wilmington.  This  corps 
of  fire-breathing  volunteers — "every  man  of  whom  had  mischief 
in  him,"  as  Mrs.  Slocumb  said, — met  McDonald  and  his  High 
landers  at  Moore's  Creek,  February  27th,  1776,  and  fought 
there  one  of  the  bloodiest  battles  of  that  eventful  year.  Mary 
Slocumb  was  at  home — what  ?  skirmishing  with  Colonel  Tarle- 
ton  ?  no — dreaming  !  Woman  still,  under  all  the  unfeminine 
porcupinishness  induced  by  the  unnatural  circumstances  of  the 
time.  We  must  let  her  tell  her  own  story. 

"I  lay — whether  waking  or  sleeping  I  know  not — I  had 
a  dream  ;  yet  it  was  not  all  a  dream.  (She  used  the  words 
unconsciously,  of  the  poet  who  was  not  then  in  being.)  I  saw 
distinctly  a  body  wrapped  in  my  husband's  guard-cloak — bloody 
— dead  ;  and  others  dead  and  wounded  on  the  ground  about 
him.  I  saw  them  plainly  and  distinctly.  I  uttered  a  cry,  and 
sprang  to  my  feet  on  the  floor  ;  and  so  strong  was  the  impress 
ion  on  my  mind,  that  I  rushed  in  the  direction  the  vision 
appeared,  and  came  up  against  the  side  of  the  house.  The  fire 
in  the  room  gave  little  light,  and  I  gazed  in  every  direction  to 
catch  another  glimpse  of  the  scene.  I  raised  the  light ;  every 
thing  was  still  and  quiet.  My  child  was  sleeping,  but  my 
woman  was  awakened  by  my  crying  out  or  jumping  on  the  floor. 
If  ever  I  felt  fear  it  was  at  that  moment.  Seated  on  the  bnl,  I 
reflected  a  few  moments — and  said  aloud  :  '  I  must  go  to  him.' 
I  told  the  woman  I  could  not  sleep  and  would  ride  down  the 
road.  She  appeared  in  great  alarm  ;  but  I  merely  told  her  to 
lock  the  door  after  me,  and  look  after  the  child.  I  went  to  the 


THE   WOMEN    Of\  THE   REVOLUTION.  221 

stable,  saddled  my  mare — as  fleet  and  easy  a  nag  as  ever  trav 
elled  ;  and  in  one  minute  we  were  tearing  down  the  road  at  full 
speed  The  cool  night  seemed  after  a  mile  or  two's  gallop  to 
bring  reflection  with  it ;  and  I  asked  myself  where  I  was  going, 
and  for  what  purpose.  Again  and  again  I  was  tempted  to  turn 
back  ;  but  I  was  soon  ten  m.les  from  home,  and  my  mind 
became  stronger  every  mile  I  rode.  I  should  find  my  husband 
dead  or  dying — was  as  firmly  my  presentiment  and  conviction  as 
any  fact  in  my  life.  When  day  broke  I  was  some  thirty  miles 
from  home.  I  knew  the  general  route  our  little  army  expected 
to  take,  and  had  followed  them  without  hesitation.  About  sun 
rise,  I  came  upon  a  group  of  women  and  children,  standing  and 
sitting  by  the  road-side,  each  one  of  them  showing  the  same  anx 
iety  of  mind  I  felt.  Stopping  a  few  minutes  I  inquired  if  the 
battle  had  been  fought.  They  knew  nothing,  but  were  assem 
bled  on  the  road  to  catch  intelligence.  They  thought  Caswell 
had  taken  the  right  of  the  Wilmington  road,  and  gone  towards 
the  northwest  (Cape  Fear).  Again  was  I  skimming  over  the 
ground  through  a  country  thinly  settled,  and  very  poor  and 
swampy  ;  but  neither  my  own  spirits  nor  my  beautiful  nag's 
failed  in  the  least.  We  followed  the  well-marked  trail  of  the 
troops. 

"  The  sun  must  have  been  well  up,  say  eight  or  nine  o'clock, 
when  I  heard  a  sound  like  thunder,  which  I  knew  must  be  can 
non.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  heard  a  cannon.  I  stop 
ped  still  ;  when  presently  the  cannon  thundered  again.  The 
battle  was  then  fighting.  What  a  fool  !  my  husband  could  not 
be  dead  last  night,  and-the  battle  only  fighting  now  !  Still,  as 
I  am  so  near,  I  will  go  and  see  how  they  come  out.  So  away 
we  went  again,  faster  than  ever  ;  and  I  soon  found  by  the  noise 
of  guns  that  I  was  near  the  fight.  Again  I  stopped.  I  could 
hear  muskets,  I  could  hear  rifles,  and  I  could  hear  shouting.  I 
spoke  to  my  mare,  and  dashed  on  in  the  direction  of  the  firing 
and  the  shouts,  now  louder  than  ever.  The  blind  path  I  had 
been  following  brought  me  into  the  Wilmington  road  leading  to 


222  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

Moore's  Creek  Bridge,  a  few  hundred  yards  below  the  bridge. 
A  few  yards  from  the  road,  under  a  cluster  of  trees,  were  lying 
perhaps  twenty  men.  They  were  the  wounded.  I  knew  the 
spot  ;  the  very  trees  ;  and  the  position  of  the  men  I  knew  as  if 
I  had  seen  it  a  thousand  times.  I  lia.d  seen  it  all  night !  I  saw 
all  at  once  ;  but  in  an  instant  my  who'e  Soul  was  centred  in  one 
spot  ;  for  there,  wrapped  in  his  bloody  guard-cloak,  was  my  hus 
band's  body  !  How  I  passed  the  few  yards  from  my  saddle  to 
the  place  I  never  knew.  I  remember  uncovering  h's  head  and 
seeing  a  face  clothed  with  gore  from  a  dreadful  wound  across 
the  temple.  I  put  my  hand  on  the  bloody  face  ;  'twas  warm  ; 
and  an  unknown  vuice  begged  for  water.  A  small  camp-kettle 
was  lying  near,  and  a  stream  of  water  was  close  by.  I  brought 
it  ;  poured  some  in  his  mouth  ;  washed  his  face  ;  and  behold — 
it  was  Frank  Cogdell.  He  soon  revived  and  could  speak.  I 
was  washing  the  wound  in  his  head.  Said  he,  '  It  is  not  that  ; 
it  is  that  hole  in  my  leg  that  is  killing  me.'  A  puddle  of  blood 
was  stand.'ng  on  the  ground  about  his  feet.  I  took  his  knife,  cut 
away  his  trousers  and  stocking,  and  found  the  blood  came  from 
a  shot-hole  through  and  through  the  fleshy  part  of  his  leg.  I 
looked  about  and  could  see  nothing  that  looked  as  if  it  would  do 
for  dressing  wounds  but  some  heart-leaves.  I  gathered  a  hand 
ful  and  bound  them  tight  to  the  holes  ;  and  the  bleeding  stopped. 
I  then  went  to  the  others  ;  and — Doctor  !  I  dressed  the  wounds 
of  many  a  brave  fellow  who  did  good  lighting  long  after  that 
day  !  I  had  not  inquired  for  my  husband  ;  but  while  I  was  busy 
Caswell  came  up.  He  appeared  very  much  surprised  to  see  me  ; 
and  was  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  about  to  pay  some  compliment : 
but  I  interrupted  him  by  asking — '  Where  is  my  husband  ?' 

"  '  Where  he  ought  to  be,  madam  ;  in  pursuit  of  the  enemy. 
But  pray,'  said  he,  '  how  came  you  here  ?' 

"'  Oh,  I  thought,'  replied  I,  'you  would  need  nurses  as  well 
as  soldiers.  See  !  I  have  already  dressed  many  of  these  good 
fellows  ;  and  here  is  one ' — going  to  Frank,  and  lifting  him  up 
with  my  arm  under  his  head,  so  that  he  could  drink  some  more 


THE   WOMEN   OF    THE   REVOLUTION.  223 

water — '  would  have  died  before  any  of  you  men  could  have 
helped  him.' 

"  '  I  believe  you,'  said  Frank.  Just  then  I  looked  up,  and  my 
husband,  as  bloody  as  a  butcher,  and  as  muddy  as  a  ditcher, 
stood  before  me. 

"  '  Why  Mary  !'  he  exclaimed,  '  What  are  you  doing  there  ?' 
Hugging  Frank  Cogdell,  the  greatest  reprobate  in  the  army  ?' 

"  In  the  middle  of  the  n'.ght,  I  again  mounted  my  mare  and 
started  for  home.  Caswell  and  my  husband  wanted  me  to  stay 
till  next  morning,  and  they  would  send  a  party  with  me  ;  but 
no  !  I  wanted  to  see  my  child,  and  I  told  them  they  could  send 
no  party  who  could  keep  up  with  me.  What  a'  happy  ride  I 
had  back  !  and  with  what  joy  did  I  embrace  my  child  as  he  ran 
to  meet  me  !" 

Lest  we  should  be  wanting,  both  to  Mrs.  Slocumb  and  her 
unwelcome  guest  Colonel  Tarletou,  we  give  a  passage  which 
does  credit  to  them  both. 

"  When  the  British  army  broke  up  their  encampment  at  the 
plantation,  a  sergeant  was  ordered  by  Colonel  Tarletou  to  stand 
in  the  door  till  the  last  soldier  had  gone  out,  to  ensure  protec 
tion  to  a  lady  whose  noble  bearing  had  insp'red  them  all  with 
the  most  profound  respect.  This  order  was  obeyed  :  the  guard 
brought  up  the  rear  of  that  army  in  their  march  northward. 
Mrs.  Slocumb  saw  them  depart  with  tears  of  joy  ;  and  on  her 
knees  gave  thanks,  with  a  full  heart,  to  the  Divine  Being  who 
had  protected  her." 

This  lady  lived,  through  all  her  toils  and  dangers,  a  happy 
wife  for  sixty  years,  with  the  husband  of  her  youth.  In  her 
seventy-second  year,  being  afflicted  with  a  cancer  in  her  hand, 
she  with  characteristic  bravery  held  it  forth  to  the  surgeon's 
knife,  declining  the  usual  assistance.  She  died  in  1836,  her 
husband  in  1841, — the  patriarchs  of  their  district. 


224  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

The  exploit  of  Mrs.  Motte,  who  furnished  the  arrows  which 
were  to  carry  combustibles  to  the  roof  of  her  own  new  and  val 
uable  mansion,  is  well  known.  It  may  not  be  equally  so,  that 
after  her  husband's  death,  finding  that  through  the  disastrous 
accidents  of  the  times,  his  estate  was  insolvent,  Mrs.  Motte 
determined  to  devote  the  remainder  of  her  life  to  the  honorable 
task  of  paying  his  debts. 

"  Her  friends  and  connections,  whose  acquaintance  with  her 
affairs  gave  weight  to  their  judgment,  warned  her  of  the  appa 
rent  hopelessness  of  such  an  effort.  But,  steadfast  in  the  prin 
ciples  that  governed  all  her  conduct,  she  persevered  ;  induced  a 
friend  to  purchase  for  her,  on  credit,  a  valuable  body  of  rice- 
land,  then  an  uncleared  swamp— on  the  Santee — built  houses 
for  the  negroes,  who  constituted  nearly  all  her  available  pro 
perty — even  that  being  encumbered  with  claims — and  took  up 
her  own  abode  on  the  new  plantation.  Living  in  an  humble 
dwelling — and  relinquishing  many  of  her  habitual  comforts — she 
devoted  herself  with  such  zeal,  untiring  industry,  and  indomita 
ble  resolution  to  the  attainment  of  her  object,  that  her  success 
triumphed  over  every  difficulty,  and  exceeded  the  expectations 
of  all  who  had  discouraged  her.  She  not  only  paid  her  hus 
band's  debts  to  the  full,  but  secured  for  her  children  and 
descendants  a  handsome  and  unincumbered  estate." 

This  is  the  heroism  of  peace,  a  far  more  difficult  heroism,  we 
must  take  leave  to  say,  than  that  of  war,  even  for  women. 
Actions  to  be  truly  great  must  be  performed  without  the  stim 
ulus  of  present  excitement.  The  true  dignity  of  such  as  this 
will  be  recognized  when  war  is  forgotten,  or  remembered  as  an 
almost  impossible  barbarism  of  past  ages. 

Further  south,  we  come  upon  the  exploit  of  a  "  war-woman  " 
indeed.  Nancy  Hart,  a  Georgian  Amazon,  hideous  in  person  as 


THE   WOMEN   OF   THE   REVOLUTION.  225 

ferocious  in  nature,  is  represented  as  having  shot  a  man  or  two 
with  her  own  hand,  in  her  own  house,  and  coolly  recommended 
the  hanging  of  four  more  before  her  dooi,  on  a  tree  which  may 
still  be  seen.  The  stream  near  this  Penthesilea's  bower  is  called 
"War-woman's  Creek,"  in  her  honor.  Nature  makes  strange 
mistakes  sometimes,  and  seems  to  have  given  the  virago's  hus 
band  the  milk  omitted  in  her  own  composition.  At  least,  we 
judge  so  from  the  fact  that  Nancy  called  him  "  a  poor  stick." 

Mrs.  Ellct's  account  of  the  women  of  Kentucky  includes 
many  very  interesting  anecdotes,  illustrative  of  Indian  cruelty, 
and  female  courage  and  patriotic  feeling.  The  satisfaction  with 
which  we  read  these  touching  records  of  American  pioneer  life 
makes  us  regret,  that  so  much  more  is  doubtless  lost  than  saved. 
These  tilings  happened  in  days  and  regions  belonging  far  less  to 
the  pen  than  the  axe  and  the  rifle.  It  were  worth  a  pilgrimage 
through  that  land  of  "  forest,  flood  and  fell,"  to  glean  the  frag 
ments  yet  extant  among  those  who  must  soon  pass  away. 

There  is  a  thrilling  story  of  Wheeling,  on  the  Ohio,  then 
called  Fort  Henry,  whither,  in  1777,  a  large  Indian  force  was 
brought  by  a  notorious  renegade  and  tory,  Simeon  Girty. 
Within  the  fort  were  collected,  as  usual,  all  the  helpless  of  the 
neighborhood,  and  a  garrison  numbering  barely  twelve,  includ 
ing  boys,  the  rest  having  been  killed  in  an  attempt  to  dislodge  a 
party  of  savages  near  the  fort.  The  stockade  was  stormed  by 
the  Indians,  and  defended  by  the  marksmen  within  with  good 
hope,  until  it  was  discovered  that  the  powder  was  exhausted. 
The  only  supply  lay  in  a  house  about  sixty  yards  from  the  gate. 
In  this  emergency,  when  all  depended  on  obtaining  the  powder, 
and  the  person  who  should  seek  it  must  become  a  mere  target 
for  the  savage  horde  without,  a  young  girl,  Elizabeth  Zane,  vol- 
15 


226  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

unteered  to  be  the  messenger,  insisting  that  no  one  else  could  be 
as  well  spared.  The  blood  thrills  as  we  picture  her,  leaving  the 
fort  on  this  desperate  errand,  reaching  the  house  in  safety,  emerg 
ing  again  with  the  keg  of  powder  in  her  arms,  and  skimming  the 
ground  toward  the  gate,  amid  a  shower  of  bullets.  But  the 
bullets  had  no  billet  for  her,  and  she  reached  the  fort  in  safety, 
We  need  not  say  that  her  heroism  saved  her  friends. 

We  have  adopted  something  of  geographical  order  in  our 
notice  of  particular  persons  ;  but  we  proceed  to  call  up  several 
characters,  omitted  in  our  pursuit  of  the  more  heroic  and  poeti 
cal  instances  of  feminine  patriotism. 

And  first  comes  Mrs.  Bache,  the  only  daughter  of  Franklin. 
Like  many  other  ladies  of  that  stirring  and  stimulating  day, 
she  wrote  many  and  good  epistles.  She  begins  her  letters  to  her 
father,  "  Honored  Sir,"  and  ends  with  saying  "  There  is  not  a 
young  lady  of  my  acquaintance  but  what  desires  to  be  remem 
bered  to  you."  The  simplicity  of  her  habits  does  credit  to  her 
father,  who,  figuring  at  the  court  of  France  in  his  blue  woollen 
stockings,  writes  reprovingly  to  her  about  Philadelphia  gaieties. 

"  But  how  could  my  dear  papa  give  me  so  severe  a  reprimand 
for  wishing  a  little  finery  ?  He  would  not,  I  am  sure,  if  he  knew 
how  much  I  have  felt  it.  Last  winter  was  a  season  of  triumph 
to  the  whigs,  and  they  spent  it  gaily.  You  would  not  have  had 
me,  I  am  sure,  stay  away  from  the  Ambassador's  or  General's 
entertainments,  nor  when  I  was  invited  to  spend  the  day  with 
General  Washington  and  his  lady ;  and  you  would  have  been 
the  last  person,  I  am  sure,  to. have  wished  to  see  me  dressed 
with  singularity.  Though  I  never  loved  dress  so  much  as  to 
wish  to  be  particularly  fine,  yet  I  never  will  go  out  when  I 
cannot  appear  so  as  to  do  credit  to  my  family  and  husband.  . 
.  .  .  .  I  can  assure  my  dear  papa  that  Industry  in  this 


THE   WOMEN   OF   THE  REVOLUTION.  227 

country  is  by  no  means  laid  aside  ;  but  as  to  spinning  linen,  we 
cannot  think  of  that  till  we  have  got  that  wove  which  we  spun 
three  years  ago.  Mr.  Duffield  has  bribed  a  weaver  that  lives 
on  his  farm  to  weave  me  eighteen  yards,  by  making  him  three 
or  four  shuttles  for  nothing,  and  keeping  it  a  secret  from  the 
country  people,  who  will  not  suffer  them  to  weave  for  those  in 
town.  This  is  the  tlrrd  weaver's  it  has  been  at,  and  many  fair 
promises  I  have  had  about  it.  'Tis  now  done  and  whitening  ; 
but  forty  yards  of  the  best  remains  at  Liditz  yet,  that  I  was  to 
have  had  home  a  twelvemonth  last  month.  Mrs.  Keppele,  who 
is  gone  to  Lancaster,  is  to  try  to  get  it  done  there  for  me  ;  but 
not  a  thread  will  they  weave  but  for  hard  money.  My  maid  is 
now  spinning  wool  for  winter  stockings  for  the  whole  family, 
which  will  be  no  difficulty  in  the  manufactory,  as  I  knit  them 
myself.  T  only  mention  these  things  that  you  may  see  that  balls 
are  not  the  only  reason  that  the  wheel  is  laid  aside.  .  .  . 
.  .  .  .  This  winter  approaches  with  so  many  horrors,  that 
I  shall  not  wan*  any  thing  to  go  abroad  in,  if  I  can  be  comfort 
able  at  home.  My  spirits,  which  I  have  kept  up  during  my 
being  drove  about  from  place  to  pla,ce,  much  better  than  most 
people's  I  meet  with,  have  been  lowered  by  nothing  but  the 
depreciation  of  the  money,  which  has  been  amazing  lately,  so 
that  home  will  be  the  place  for  me  this  winter,  as  I  cannot  get 
a  common  winter  cloak  and  hat  but  just  decent  under  two  hun 
dred  pounds  ;  as  to  gauze  now  it  is  fifty  dollars  a  yard,  't!s 
beyond  my  wish,  and  I  should  think  it  not  only  a  shame  but  a 
sin  to  buy  it,  if  I  had  millions." 

Mrs.  Bache  merits  her  place  among  the  heroines  of  the 
Revolution  by  personal  services  in  the  hour  of  deep  need. 

"  In  the  patriotic  effort  of  the  ladies  of  Philadelphia,  to  fur 
nish  the  destitute  American  soldiers  with  money  and  clothing 
during  the  year  1780,  Mrs  Bache  took  a  very  active  part. 
After  the  death  of  Mrs.  Reed,  the  duty  of  completing  the  col 
lections  and  contributions  devolved  on  her  and  four  other  ladies, 


228  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

as  a  sort  of  Executive  Committee.  The  shirts  provided  were 
cut  out  at  her  house.  A  letter  to  Dr.  Franklin,  part  of  which 
has  been  published,  shows  how  earnestly  she  was  engaged  in  the 
work.  The  Marquis  de  Chastellux  thus  describes  a  visit  which 
he  paid  her  about  this  time  :  '  After  this  slight  repast,  which 
only  lasted  an  hour  and  a  half,  we  went  to  Visit  the  ladies, 
agreeable  to  the  Philadelphia  custom,  where  the  morning  is  the 
most  proper  hour  for  paying  visits.  We  began  by  Mrs.  Bache. 
She  merited  all  the  anxiety  we  had  to  see  her,  for  she  is  the 
daughter  of  Mr.  Frankljn  Simple  in  her  manners,  like  her 
respected  father,  she  possesses  his  benevolence.  She  conducted 
us  into  a  room  filled  with  work,  lately  finished  by  the  ladies  of 
Philadelphia.  This  work  consisted  neither  of  embroidered 
tambour  waistcoats,  nor  of  net  work  edging,  nor  of  gold  and 
silver  brocade.  It  was  a  quantity  of  shirts  for  the  soldiers  of 
Pennsylvania.  The  ladies  bought  the  linen  from  their  own 
private  purses,  and  took  a  pleasure  in  cutting  them  out  and 
sewing  them  themselves.  On  each  shirt  was  the  name  of  the 
married  or  unmarried  lady  who  made  it  ;  and  they  amounted  to 
twenty-two  hundred.'  " 

In  another  letter  to  her  father,  speaking  of  her  having  met 
with  General  and  Mrs.  Washington  several  times,  she  adds, 
"  He  always  inquires  after  you  in  the  most  affectionate  manner, 
and  speaks  of  you  highly.  We  danced  at  Mrs.  Powell's  on  your 
birth-day,  or  night,  I  should  say,  in  company  together,  and  he 
told  me  it  was  the  anniversary  of  his  marriage  ;  it  was  just 
twenty  years  that  night."  Washington  dancing!  The  statue 
stepped  down  from  its  pedestal  1 

Miss  Mary  Philipse, — afterwards  the  wife  of  Captain  Roger 
Morris,  who  was  attainted  of  treason,  and  suffered  confiscation 
in  punishment  of  his  "  loyalty," — is  celebrated  as  having  fasci 
nated  Washington,  when,  in  his  twenty-fourth  year,  he  travelled 


THE   WOMEN    OF   THE   REVOLUTION.'  229 

from  Virginia  to  Boston,  on  horseback,  attended  by  his  aides- 
de-camp.  He  was  entertained  in  New  York  at  the  house  of 
Mr.  Beverley  Robinson,  whose  wife  was  the  sister  of  the  charm 
ing  Mary  Philipse.  It  seems  quite  problematical  whether  the 
young  chief  actually  offered  himself  and  suffered  the  mortifica 
tion  of  a  refusal,  but  it  is  not  disputed  that  his  heart  was 
touched,  and  that  the  young  lady  might  have  been  the  wife  of 
the  Commander-in-chief,  and  the  lady  of  our  first  President,  if 
she  had  chosen.  She  is  represented  to  have  been  one  of  those 
who  rule  all  about  them  by  an  irresistible  charm,  and  the  honor 
in  which  her  memory  is  held  among  her  descendants  proves  that 
Washington  was  wise  in  love  as  well  as  in  war. 

The  wife  of  the  traitor  Arnold  was  the  daughter  of  Edward 
Shippen,  Chief  Justice  of  Pennsylvania,  of  a  family  distinguished 
among  the  aristocracy  of  the  day,  and  prominent  after  the 
commencement  of  the  contest  among  those  who  cherished 
loyalist  principles.  She  was  a  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen  when 
she  became  the  object  of  Arnold's  attentions  ;  but  although  he 
appears,  even  before  marriage,  to  have  imbued  her  with  his  own 
discontented  and  rancorous  feelings  towards  those  who  thwarted 
his  plans  of  selfish  ambition,  there  is  not  a  shadow  of  proof  that 
the  knowledge  of  his  treason  did  not  fall  on  her,  as  on  the  coun 
try,  like  a  thunderbolt.  But  it  cannot  be  pretended  that  she 
was  one  of  the  women  who  help  to  keep  men  true  and  brave. 

"  She  was  young,  gay,  and  frivolous  ;  fond  of  display  and 
admiration,  and  used  to  luxury  ;  she  was  utterly  unfitted  for  the 
duties  and  privations  of  a  poor  man's  wife.  A  loyalist's  daugh 
ter,  she  had  been  taught  to  mourn  over  even  the  poor  pageantry 
of  colonial  rank  and  authority,  and  to  recollect  with  pleasure 
the  pomp  of  those  brief  days  of  enjoyment,  when  military  men 
of  noble  station  were  her  admirers. 


230  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

"  Mrs.  Arnold  was  at  breakfast  with  her  husband  and  the 
aides-de-camp — Washington  and  the  other  officers  having  not 
yet  come — when  the  letter  arrived  which  bore  to  the  traitor  the 
first  intelligence  of  Andre's  capture.  He  left  the  room  imme 
diately,  went  to  his  wife's  chamber,  sent  for  her,  and  briefly 
informed  her  of  the  necessity  of  his  instant  flight  to  the  enemy. 
This  was,  probably,  the  first  intelligence  she  received  of  what 
had  been  so  long  going  on  ;  the  news  overwhelmed  her,  and 
when  Arnold  quitted  the  apartment,  he  left  her  lying  in  a  swoon 
on  the  floor, 

"  Her  almost  frantic  condition  is  described  with  sympathy  by 
Colonel  Hamilton,  in  a  letter  written  the  next  day  :  '  The 
General,'  he  says,  '  went  to  see  her  ;  she  upbraided  him  with 
being  in  a  plot  to  murder  her  child,  raved,  shed  tears,  and  la 
mented  the  fate  of  the  infant All  the  sweetness 

of  beauty,  all  the  loveliness  of  innocence,  all  the  tenderness  of  a 
wife,  and  all  the  fondness  of  a  mother,  showed  themselves  in  her 
appearance  and  conduct.' — He,  too,  expresses  his  conviction  that 
she  had  no  knowledge  of  Arnold's  plan,  till  h's  announcement 
to  her  that  he  must  banish  himself  from  his  country  forever. 
The  opinion  of  other  persons  qualified  to  judge  without  preju 
dice,  acquitted  her  of  the  charge  of  having  participated  in  the 
treason.  John  Jay,  writing  from  Madrid  to  Catharine  Livings 
ton,  says — '  All  the  world  here  are  cursing  Arnold,  and  pitying 
his  wife.'  And  Robert  Morris  writes — '  Poor  Mrs.  Arnold  ! 
was  there  ever  such  an  infernal  villain  !' 

"Mrs.  Arnold  went  from  West  Point  to  her  father's  house  ; 
but  was  not  long  permitted  to  remain  in  Philadelphia  The 
traitor's  papers  having  been  seized,  by  direction  of  the  Executive 
authorities,  the  correspondence  with  Andra  was  brought  to 
light ;  suspicion  rested  on  her  ;  and  by  an  order  of  the  Council, 
dated  Oct.  27th,  she  was  required  to  leave  the  state,  to  return 
no  more  during  the  continuance  of  the  war.  She  accordingly 
departed  to  join  her  husband  in  New  York.  The  respect  and 
forbearance  shown  towards  her  on  her  journey  through  the 


THE   WOMEN  OF   THE   REVOLUTION.  231 

country,  notwithstanding  her  banishment,  testified  the  popular 
belief  in  her  innocence.  M.  de  Marbois  relates,  that  when  she 
stopped  at  a  village  where  the  people  were  about  to  burn 
Arnold  in  effigy,  they  put  it  off  till  the  next  night." 

Truth  to  say,  these  reminiscences  of  the  women  of  our  forming 
day  are  so  interesting,  that  we  might  extract  more  than  half 
the  book  if  we  should  indulge  our  disposition  to  hold  up  to 
honor  the  daughters  of  the  various  portions  of  this  extensive 
country,  whose  characters  were  brought  out  by  the  influences 
and  chances  of  the  times.  We  owe  them  an  incalculable  debt, 
to  be  repaid  only  by  the  best  possible  use  of  the  blessings  they 
bequeathed  us,  and  an  interest  in  the  future  of  our  country  equal 
to  that  which  inspired  their  efforts  and  sacrifices. 


WESTERN  TRAITS, 

IP  there  be  a  country  on  earth  where  hospitality  is  free  and 
hearty,  it  is  ours.  Whatever  faults  we  may  possess  as  a  people, 
this  one  virtue — if  virtue  it  may  be  called  which  is  rather  a 
gratification  than  a  sacrifice  of  the  natural  promptings — is  flour 
ishing  to  a  degree  unknown  elsewhere.  It  seems  the  spontane 
ous  and  generous  fruit  of  our  overflowing  prosperity  ;  the  impul 
sive  rendering  to  the  fellow-creature  of  the  debt  which  we  owe 
to  the  All-bounteous  Parent.  When  not  crushed  by  self-in 
duced  Penury,  or  chilled  by  empty  pride,  the  American  heart 
responds  to  the  claim  of  the  stranger  with  unerring,  electric  pre 
cision.  Whether  guests  are  numbered  in  thousands,  while  the 
government  is  called  upon  to  play  host,  or  the  single  stranger 
knocks  at  the  door  of  a  log-cabin  in  the  midst  of  a  prairie,  no 
hesitation  occurs  as  to  the  reception,  refreshment,  and  aid  of  the 
weary  and  discouraged  traveller.  If  immigrants  overflow  our 
alms-houses  and  hospitals,  we  build  more  ;  accommodating  the 
surplus,  meanwhile,  by  temporary  arrangement,  at  any  cost.  If 
private  visiters  come  down  upon  us  in  avalanches,  we  turn  the 
house  out  of  doors,  and  make  beds  in  impossible  places,  rather 
than  refuse  to  open  our  doors  to  any  one  coming  in  the  sacred 
character  of  guest.  If  our  national  character  suffer — according 
to  certain  English  observers — from  the  lack  of  the  ennobling  sea- 


WESTERN  TRAITS.  233 

timent  of  loyalty,  we  may  console  ourselves,  at  least  in  part,  by 
the  reflection  that  a  feeling  and  habit  of  hospitality  is  ennobling 
too,  and  perhaps  proves  no  less  in  favor  of  the  country  than  the 
other,  especially  since  it  often  involves  some  sacrifice  of  time,  incli 
nation  and  worldly  goods,  while  loyalty  may,  and  often  does 
evaporate  in  words.  It  is  easier  to  swing  one's  hat  and  ejacu 
late,  "  God  save  the  queen  !"  while  we  toss  off  a  bumper,  than 
to  receive  a  poor  family,  furnish  them  with  food  and  lodging, 
and  speed  them  on  their  way.  John  Bull's  loyalty  has  never 
made  him  look  more  sweetly  upon  the  tax-gatherer,  or  embrace 
with  fraternal  warmth  his  Irish  fellow-subjects  ;  while  our  hos 
pitality  opens  its  doors  to  those  whom  taxes  drive  out  of  their 
homes,  and  to  the  Irish  who  flee  before  the  tender  mercies  of 
their  more  favored  countrymen.  There  is  a  vast  deal  of  spurious 
but  showy  sentiment  in  the  world. 

But  as  a  matter  of  individual  and  self-sacrificing  virtue,  com 
mend  us  to  the  hospitality  of  the  western  settler.  It  extends 
not  only  to  his  neighbors  and  friends,  those  who  may  possibly 
have  an  opportunity  of  returning  the  kindness,  but  to  business 
visitors,  tax-gatherers,  duns  !  Every  decent  (white)  man  is 
asked  to  stay  to  dinner,  whether  he  come  to  buy  land  or  to 
serve  a  writ.  This  good  nature  often  subjects  the  inviter  to 
strange  table-fellows,  but  your  true  Western  man  is  not  fastidi 
ous.  He  will  see  '  unwashen  hands/  on  his  knives  and  forks 
rather  than  endure  the  thought  of  having  transgressed  the  laws 
of  hospitality. 

This  feeling  is  peculiarly  exhibited  in  the  urgency  with 
which  he  invites  his  old  parents  to  '  come  out  West,'  for 
getting  the  unavoidable  dangers  of  the  change.  And  it  is 
no  less  remarkable  how  many,  unappalled  by  the  prospect 


234  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

of  leaving  the  home  and  the  associations  of  youth,  are  finally 
induced  by  affection  or  compelled  by  poverty  to  join  their 
prosperous  children  in  their  new  abode.  It  will  be  long  ere  we 
forget  the  coming  of  two  old  people — the  parents  of  our  talka 
tive  neighbor,  Mrs.  Titmouse,  whose  log-house  stood  in  a  lonely 
spot,  where  the  deer  ran  past  the  windows  to  be  shot,  and  the 
fox  took  care  of  the  chickens.  Mrs.  Titmouse  was  a  perfect 
Croton  in  conversation.  Her  daily  talk  was  like  streams,  jets, 
douches — everything  but  the  standing  pool  or  the  useful  hydrant 
which  gives  you  just  as  much  as  you  want. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  ye  jist  one  minute,"  she  would  say,  if 
she  caught  you  passing  her  door.  "  Sit  down  now,  do  !  here's 
a  seat" — (wiping  it  with  Sally  Jane's  sun-bonnet).  "I've  seen 
the  day  when  I  could  ha'  gi'n  ye  a  cheer  that  hadn't  a  broken 
back.  My  old  man's  shiftless  like,  ever  since  he  walked  out  of 
the  third  story  door  of  the  mill,  and  hit  his  head  and  spoilt  that 
new  cap  o'  his'n.  That  cap  cost  twelve  shillin'  if  it  cost  a  cop 
per.  He  bought  it  down  to  Galpin's  ;  or  rather  I  bought  it,  as 
I  may  say,  for  I  airnt  the  money  by  spinnin'.  Spinnin'  isn't 
sich  very  bad  business,  after  all,  for  I  airnt  enough  by  my  wheel 
last  year  to  buy  that  'ere  cap,  and  them  'ere  sashes,  there  in 
the  corner.  If  my  old  man  warn't  quite  so  shiftless,  we  should 
ha'  had  something  for  winders  besides  cotton  sheets,  for  them 
sashes  has  sarved  for  hen-roosts  this  six  months.  Its  ra'ly 
astonishin'  how  hens  does  love  to  sleep  where  you  don't  want 
'em  to.  They  allers  roosted  on  the  teester  of  that  bed  till  we 
got  them  sashes.  I'd  rather  have  'em  there  than  on  the  bed, 
though." 

Thus  much  would  be  said  while  the  chair  was  dusted  and  the 


WESTERN  TRAITS.  235 

visiter  placed  in  it.  Then  would  the  good  dame  seat  herself 
upon  the  bed-side,  and  continue  : — 

"  Folks  may  think,  seein'  me  so  kind  o'  scant  off,  that  I 
hain't  never  been  used  to  nothin'  ;  but  I  can  tell  ye  my  folks 
down  east  is  forehanded  folks.  I've  got  a  cousin  that  keeps  as 
handsome  a  shoe-store  as  there  is  standin'  between  th.s  and 
Detroit.  And  my  uncle's  daughter,  Malindy  Brown,  is  married 
to  a  cap'n  of  a  vessel — his  boat  runs  on  Connecticut  river — I 
dare  say  you  may  have  heard  of  him — one  Jabez  Coffin.  And 
my  cousin,  Joe  Binks,  is  a  good  farmer,  with  everything  com 
fortable.  When  I  was  down  east  he  gi'n  me  lots  o'  things. 
Look  a  here,  now  !" 

And  with  the  word,  the  speaker,  in  the  vehemence  of  her 
desire  to  produce  proofs  of  her  gentility,  would  hop  up  on  the 
block  which  served  for  a  sort  of  stand  by  the  side  of  the  fire, 
and  reach  down  a  huge  bag  of  dried  apples,  which  must  be 
"hefted"  on  the  failing  knees  of  the  visiter,  in  proof  of  the 
forehandedness  of  the  friends  who  could  afford  to  give  such  evi 
dence  of  their  interest  in  Mrs.  Titmouse.  "Theyv'e  got  apples 
as  plenty  as  taters,"  she  would  say,  with  a  sigh,  "  and  wool 
and  flax  too,  for  all  I'm  so  poor.  But  I'm  goin'  to  have  my 
old  father  and  mother  come  out  here,  to  see  how  poor  folks  live, 
and  I  don't  believe  but  what  they'll  be  pleased  to  see  the  open- 
in's  too." 

The  old  father  and  mother  did  come,  and  were  duly  installed 
in  the  "  festered"  bed,  while  everything  that  the  poor  farm 
afforded  was  put  in  requisition  for  their  comfort.  Chinese  exag 
geration,  "  Every  thing  I  have  is  yours,"  is  literally  acted  upon 
in  the  woods  in  such  cases.  No  reserve  is  thought  of,  from  the 
best  bed  (though  it  be  the  only  one)  to  the  last  fat  chicken,  if 


236  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

it  will  pleasure  the  honored  guest,  particularly  if  he  come  from 
"  the  east,"  that  land  of  dear  and  splendid  memories. 

But  all  Mrs.  Titmouse's  care  did  not  succeed  in  warding  off 
the  Destroyer,  whose  way  was  made  easy  by  the  weight  of 
years,  the  effects  of  hard  work,  the  change  of  climate,  and  the 
marsh  malaria,  which  steamed  up  more  venomously  than  usual, 
in  the  autumn  of  the  year  in  which  they  came  to  visit  their  flu 
ent  daughter.  Both  the  old  people  died  ;  the  man  first,  and 
the  wife  of  grief  for  her  lost  companion.  Only  four  weeks  inter 
vened,  and  the  second  funeral  under  such  circumstances  drew 
together  the  whole  neighborhood. 

Poor  Mrs.  Titmouse  took  her  sorrow  differently  from  other 
people.  When  her  friends  came  to  honor  the  sad  occasion, 
they  found  the  coffin  on  its  tressels  in  the  open  air,  under  the 
shade  of  an  ancient  tree,  and  the  bereaved  daughter  hovering 
about  it  with  her  usual  appearance  of  assiduous  inefficiency,  and 
an  unceasing  gush  of  words.  She  recounted  again  and  again, 
as  new  parties  came  in,  the  whole  story  of  her  invitation  to  her 
parents,  their  acceptance,  their  journey  ;  what  she  had  done 
and  tried  to  do  for  them  while  under  her  roof ;  the  first  symp 
toms  of  incipient  fever  ;  the  whole  course  of  medical  treatment ; 
the  approach  of  danger  ;  the  fears  and  the  regrets  of  the  suffer 
ers  and  herself ;  the  consolations  of  the  minister  ;  the  words  of 
the  fatal  hour  (chiefly  her  own)  ;  the  preparations  for  burial, 
and  the  difficulty  which  occurred  as  to  the  digging  of  the  graves, 
because  the  money,  which  must  be  paid  in  advance,  was,  not 
forthcoming.  These  comprised  but  a  portion  of  the  topics  with 
the  discussion  of  which  Mrs.  Titmouse  sought  to  relieve  her 
heart,  while  her  apron  was  every  moment  lifted  to  her  eyes,  to 


WESTERN  TRAITS.  237 

wipe  away  the  tears  ever  called  up  anew  by  the  words  associated 
with  all  these  sorrowful  circumstances. 

After  the  clergyman  commenced  his  duties,  habitual  respect 
dammed  up  the  stream  of  talk  ;  but  during  the  long  drive  to 
the  grave,  and  at  the  grave  itself,  Mrs.  Titmouse  found  herself 
refreshed  enough  to  recommence  the  story  of  her  woes.  She 
was  glad,  at  any  rate,  she  said,  that  the  old  folks  had  such 
decent  funerals.  She  didn't  believe  they  would  have  had  better 
at  "  the  east,"  though  all  their  people  were  so  forehanded  ;  and 
she  would  never  forget  Mr.  C.'s  kindness  in  getting  them  graves 
dug,  and  would  pay  him  out  of  the  very  first  spinning  money 
she  got.  As  for  her  husband,  she  insisted  he  was  so  shiftless, 
that  there  never  would  have  been  any  graves  dug  if  they  had 
waited  for  him.  To  be  sure,  he  said  his  back  was  lame,  but  it 
wasn't  so  lame  but  what  he  could  sit  on  the  counter  at  the  store, 
playing  checkers  Wtth  that  loafer,  Levi  Cram,  until  sun-down, 
never  thinking  of  what  was  to  be  done. 

At  the  grave  the  complaint  took  the  form  of  more  vehement 
lamentation.  All  the  while  they  were  lowering  the  body,  Mrs. 
Titmouse  stood  looking  in  and  wringing  her  hands.  "  Oh,  my 
poor  old  father  and  mother  !  I'm  sorry  enough  that  ever  I 
asked  ye  to  come  away  from  your  comfortable  home,  out  here 
into  the  Michigan  to  die,  away  from  every  body  !  Not  but 
what  it's  a  good  place  to  live  and  die  in,  and  I'm  sure  I'm  under 
an  everlastin'  compliment  to  the  neighbors  for  their  kindness, 
and  particularly  Mr.  C.,  for  having  the  graves  dug,  and  lending 
us  his  wagon  ;  and  if  our  pigs  turn  out  any  thing,  which  I'm 
afraid  they  won't,  I  shall  certainly  send  Mr.  C.  one,  besides 
paying  him  in  money.  Or  if  the  pigs  shouldn't  do  well,  perhaps 
the  chickens  will.  Any  how,  I'll  find  something,  for  I'm  under 


238  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

an  everlastin'  compliment  ;  and  hope  when  any  of  you  gets  into 
trouble,  you'll  fiud  them  that's  able  and  willin'  to  help  ye, 
though  I  wouldn't  advise  any  one  to  bring  their  old  father  and 
mother  out  here,  for  though  it's  a  good  country  enough  for  them 
that's  strong  and  hearty,  it  ain't  no  place  for  old  folks." 

This  is  but  a  trifling  specimen  of  Mrs.  Titmouse's  grief- 
prompted  oration  ;  for  pen  and  ink  are  too  slow  to  give  any 
idea  of  all  that  she  managed  to  enunciate  while  the  mould  was 
filling  in.  Her  talking  was  so  proverbial  in  the  whole  neighbor 
hood,  that  a  reprobate  fellow  in  telling  the  particulars  of  a  fit 
of  illness,  which  had  brought  him  to  the  verge  of  the  grave, 
added  :  "  But  after  all,  the  Lord  was  very  good  to  me  ;  for  he 
never  let  old  Mother  Titmouse  come  near  me,  or  I  shouldn't 
have  sot  here  this  day." 

After  our  experience  and  observation,  we  cannot  recommend 
the  emigration  of  people  advanced  in  years,  though  we  are  far 
from  predicting  for  them  the  fate  of  Mrs.  Titmouse's  parents. 
Under  the  most  favorable  circumstances,  there  are  many  priva 
tions  to  be  undergone  in  a  new  country  ;  and  though  the  disor 
ders  which  belong  to  a  luxuriant  soil  in  the  first  stages  of  its  culti 
vation,  are  not  generally  fatal  to  the  young  and  robust,  the  con 
stitution  of  the  aged  lacks  stamina  to  rally  after  the  first  attack 
But  to  those  who  do  go,  we  can  promise  hospitality  une 
qualled  in  the  richest  dwellings  of  the  old  world  The  ready 
hand,  the  hearty  greeting,  the  offered  bed,  the  bounteous  table, 
the  best  seat  at  the  fire,  await  the  traveller  who  comes  to  the 
country  with  the  intention  to  settle.  Those  who  fly  to  the  prai 
ries  in  pursuit  of  a  new  pleasure,  may  sometimes  meet  the  cold 
shoulder — indeed,  some  have  made  complaints  of  that  sort ;  but 
our  knowledge  of  western  people  assures  us  that  if  the  other 


WESTERN  TRAITS.  239 

side  could  be  heard,  there  would  be  good  reason — either  of 
haughty  pride  in  the  visiter,  or.  sad  deficiency  or  unhappiness  in 
the  house — to  account  for  any  such  departure  from  the  uni 
versal  rule. 

The  very  privations  and  difficulties  of  a  new  country  lead  to 
a  kindness  which  is  founded  upon  the  keenest  sympathy.  Pros 
perity  is  but  too  apt  to  make  us  selfish  and  exacting,  while  it 
increases  our  wants,  and  leaves  us  little  to  spare.  But  when 
we  have  ourselves  felt  the  needs  which  we  observe  in  the  new 
comer — when  we  have  felt  the  heart-sickness  which  grows  out 
of  fatigue — strangeness — remembrance  of  home,  and  uncertainty 
as  to  the  future — all  referring,  not  to  mere  luxuries  and 
superfluities,  but  to  the  first  requisites  of  comfort,  or  even  of 
existence,  the  heart  yearns  with  a  fraternal  tenderness  toward 
him  who  is  treading  in  the  steps  we  have  but  just  quitted,  and 
we  are  willing  to  make  the  toils  and  sacrifices  through  which  we 
have  passed  available  in  smoothing  the  way  for  another. 


SAINTS  OF  OUR  DAY, 

THE  disadvantageous  position  into  which  circumstances  fruit 
ful  of  good  to  a  certain  point,  have  helped  to  push  our  clergy,  de 
prives  society  in  a  great  measure  of  the  benefit  of  their  example, 
since  their  position  differs  so  entirely  from  that  of  the  rest  of  the 
world,  that  nobody  ever  thinks  of  them  as  affording  precedents 
for  other  men's  lives  and  doings.  Every  other  man  but  the 
clergyman  has  such  a  career  of  prosperity  opened  to  him,  in  po 
litics,  commerce,  the  mechanic  arts,  law,  or  medicine,  that  for  a 
man  of  talents  to  decide  on  consecrating  himself  to  the  work  of 
the  ministry,  is  equivalent  to  a  vow  of  poverty.  The  ministry 
is  the  only  calling  among  us  in  which  the  greatest  gifts  and  the 
most  severe  labors,  except  under  the  most  rare  and  fortunate 
circumstances,  bring  only  a  meagre  livelihood  and  no  hope  of 
provision  for  a  surviving  family.  Thus  excluded  from  competi 
tion  and  success,  in  the  grand  pursuit  which  maddens  the  world 
all  about  him,  who  ever  thinks  of  the  clergyman  as  an  example  ? 
Esteem  and  honor  he  has,  no  doubt,  and  abundant  outward  re 
spect  ;  but  he  is  looked  upon  as  a  man  apart,  and  supposed  to 
be  really  more  in  sympathy  with  the  women  who  form  the  larger 
portion  of  his  congregation,  and  take  generally  some  slight  share 
in  its  duties,  than  with  the  men  who  can  scarcely  afford  time 
and  attention  for  one  service  on  Sunday,  let  the  sermon  have 


SAINTS   OF   OUR   DAY.  241 

cost  ever  so  much  time  and  thought,  prayer  and  anxiety.  This 
being  the  case,  the  form  of  sainthood  perhaps  more  needed 
among  us  than  any  other,  is  a  manifest  superiority  to  the  cor 
ruption  of  riches,  and  a  determination,  known  and  read  of  all 
men,  to  consecrate  the  fruits  of  industry  and  blessing  to  the 
Lord  who  permits  their  in-gathering.  The  triumph  of  the  rich 
man  over  his  riches  is  a  great  victory,  now  and  here.  Garlands 
and  civic  crowns  might  well  be  adjudged  to  such  a  hero.  He 
must  be.  no  devotee  to  poverty,  no  despiser  of  the  thrift,  the 
enterprise  and  the  glorious  success  of  our  conventional  life  ;  but 
one  who,  having  entered  largely  into  trade,  and  fully  succeeded, 
learns  to  make  his  gains  the  fuel  of  that  holy  fire  which  alone 
has  power  to  consume  all  selfishness  in  the  career  of  charity. 

Such  a  man,  if  we  have  rightly  read  various  notices  of  his 
character  and  actions,  was  the  late  Amos  Lawrence,  whom  we 
cannot  forbear  to  mention  when  we  think  of  some  of  the  saintly 
lives  lately  closed  among  us.  Known  alike  as  the  .head  of  one 
of  the  most  distinguished  commercial  houses  in  the  United 
States,  and  as  the  most  liberal  dispenser  of  charity  in  the  most 
beneficent  city  in  the  world,  we  cannot  but  feel  that  he  is  indeed 
an  example  of  the  virtue  we  most  need.  Nowhere  is  the  influ 
ence  of  wealth  likely  to  be  worse  than  where  its  duties  are  so 
little  determined  by  established  requirements,  or  hereditary 
obligations,  and  where  every  man  is  the  exclusive  controller  of 
his  own  possessions.  Over  all  the  temptations  besetting  the 
wealthy  class  in  our  country,  Amos  Lawrence  must  be  confessed 
to  have  obtained  a  complete  victory.  He  began  as  a  poor  boy; 
he  made  his  fortune  by  hard  work  ;  he  grew  up  under  the  spur 
of  emulation  ;  he  dealt  in  a  community  where  a  moderate  gener 
osity  would  have  conciliated  the  entire  respect  of  the  public; 
16 


242  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

he  was  neither  a  partisan  in  politics,  nor  a  sectarian  in  religion. 
There  seemed  nothing,  in  short,  to  turn  him  aside  from  the 
ordinary  course  of  rising  men  about  him  ;  going  on  to  accumulate 
indefinitely,  bestowing  liberally  from  time  to  time  of  his  surplus 
on  special  charities,  but  always  adding  house  to  house  and  barn 
to  barn,  as  the  inevitable  and  laudable  business  of  a  wealthy 
and  prosperous  man. 

But  Mr.  Lawrence  did  no  such  thing.  The  moment  he  found 
himself  possessed  of  the  means  to  satisfy  the  natural  and  proper 
claims  of  his  family,  he  determined, — not  to  leave  the  cares  and 
labors  of  business  for  the  enjoyment  of  leisure  or  self-cultivation, 
but  to  consecrate  all  that  should  reward  his  future  industry  to 
the  immediate  benefit  of  his  fellow-men.  He  resolved  never  to 
be  any  richer ;  thus  rebuking  the  spirit  of  accumulation,  while 
on  the  other  hand  he  honored  the  spirit  of  enterprise,  by  contin 
uing  his  activity,  and  devoting  its  proceeds  to  the  necessities  of 
the  less  able  or  less  fortunate.  In  pursuance  of  this  plan,  he  is 
believed  to  have  given  away,  during  the  last  twenty  years  of  his 
life,  not  less  than  half  a  million  of  dollars,  an  amount  not  more 
remarkable  than  the  mode  in  which  it  was  distributed.  He  was 
no  lavish  or  fitful  giver.  He  made  it  literally  the  principal 
business  of  his  life,  during  the  period  we  have  named,  to  search 
out,  by  inquiry  and  reflection,  the  best  and  most  useful  forms  of 
Mberality.  He  spared  no  personal  labor  in  the  details  of  his 
benevolence.  The  time  and  counsel,  the  sympathy  and  tender 
ness  he  bestowed  were  in  proportion  to  the  constancy  and 
magnitude  of  his  pecuniary  donations.  He  was  as  careful  in 
distributing  as  if  he  had  been  responsible  to  a  board  of  directors, 
and  yet  as  free  as  if  he  were  the  almoner  of  a  fortune  in  which 
he  had  no  personal  interest.  The  warmth  of  his  heart  never 


SAINTS   OF  OUR    DAY.  243 

encroached  on  the  coolness  of  his  head.  The  very  qualities 
essential  to  success  in  life  came  into  play  in  achieving  that 
higher  success  which  rightfully  immortalizes  his  example.  Col 
lision  with  competitors  had  never  hardened  his  heart,  but  only 
taught  him  patience  and  pity.  Business  habits  had  not 
blunted  his  sensibilities,  dulled  his  fancy  or  starved  his  love  of 
nature,  and  his  sympathy  with  poverty,  with  childhood,  and 
whatever  else  touches  the  best  hearts.  He  needed  no  separa 
tion  from  common  life,  no  narrowing  down  of  its  duties,  to 
become  a  saint.  He  pursued  his  business  with  the  same  justice, 
generosity,  purity  and  truth,  that  presided  over  his  benefactions. 
He  was  as  much  a  saint  in  making  as  in  spending  his  fortune. 
He  exercised  as  benignant  an  influence  over  his  clerks  as  over 
his  beneficiaries  ;  and  let  no  young  man  go  to  ruin  under  his 
eye,  while  he  was  providing  for  possible  evils  among  those  he 
never  saw. 

Do  we  seem  hasty  in  classing  this  man  of  goodness  with 
the  saints  ?  It  is  true  he  would  have  shrunk  with  no  simulated 
blushes  from  the  title  ;  but  can  any  one  of  ordinary  experience 
suppose  that  such  a  character  had  not  its  foundations  deep 
in  religiousness  of  heart  ?  "  Of  creeds  laid  in  the  understanding, 
and  not  influencing  the  life,"  says  President  Hopkins,  "  he 
thought  little  ;  the  tendency  of  his  mind  was  to  practical  rather 
than  to  doctrinal  views.  He  believed  in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
as  a  Saviour,  and  trusted  in  him  for  salvation.  He  was  a  man 
of  habitual  prayer.  The  last  time  I  visited  him  he  said  to  me 
that  he  had  been  restless  during  the  night,  and  that  the 
only  way  in  which  he  could  get  quieted  was  '  by  getting 
near  to  God.' "  So  all  the  building,  fitly  framed  together 
grew  into  a  holy  temple  in  the  Lord.  None  that  ever  looked 


244  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

on  the  soft,  sensitive  countenance  of  that  holy  man,  all  farrowed 
over  as  it  was  with  smiles  and  tears  ;  or  saw  it  kindle  with  the 
rapture  of  devotion  as  he  walked  among  the  scenes  of  the 
Nature  he  loved  so  enthusiastically  ;  or  as  he  listened  to  the 
appeals  of  religious  truth  ;  none  that  ever  heard  him  speak  of  the 
sorrow  or  suffering  of  others,  or  was  privileged  to  partake  of  his 
own  more  immediate  and  private  griefs, — can  think  of  Amos 
Lawrence  otherwise  than  as  a  true  and  blessed  Saint.  The  city 
of  Boston  owes  a  statue  to  his  memory  ;  for  his  character  was 
intimately  associated  with  his  person,  and  his  inspiring  face 
ought  never  to  become  unfamiliar  in  a  community  where  his 
name  will  never  die. 

Only  in  one  city  that  we  know  of — Genoa — is  there  a  place 
hallowed  all  about  by  the  statues  of  men  who,  from  the  means 
and  habits  of  private  fortune  and  private  life,  have  done  some 
great,  quiet  good  to  the  state.  The  walls  of  the  old  hall  of 
San  Giorgio  seem  endowed  with  sentient  and  tender  life, 
as  the  traveller  reads,  from  modest  scrolls,  the  records  of  civic 
services  done  by  those  grave,  plain  citizens  to  their  birth  city. 
One  procured  a  remission  of  the  tax  on  salt,  long  a  burthen  to 
the  poor ;  another  dowered  many  young  maidens ;  another 
built  a  bridge  much  needed,  and  so  on.  Happy  Genoa,  that 
reared  and  knew  how  to  value  such  citizens  !  Happy  Boston, 
that  could  line  a  great  chamber  as  nobly  ;  wise  Boston,  if  she 
see  fit  to  do  it ! 

We  cannot  estimate  how  much  our  great  metropolis,  New 
York,  might  be  able  to  do  in  this  way,  if  she  were  disposed  to 
dedicate  a  pantheon  to  beneficence  instead  of  wealth  or  talent. 
She  has  at  least  her  Peter  Cooper,  who,  in  the  prime  of  his 
days,  consecrates  at  once,  to  a  benevolent  institution  on  the 


SAINTS  OF   OUR  DAY.  245 

largest  scale,  a  sum  nearly  equal  to  that  we  have  mentioned  as 
the  twenty  years'  contribution  of  Mr.  Lawrence  to  the  good  of 
his  native  place.  But  canonization  very  properly  awaits  the 
seal  of  death  ;  and  we  prefer  to  speak  of  a  mildly  shining  light 
just  gone  out,  to  our  mortal  apprehension,  in  the  death  of 
Father  Hopper,  a  Quaker  of  our  city,  and  for  almost  three-quar 
ters  of  a  century  known  as  the  friend,  advocate  and  helper  of 
all  the  wretched  and  the  oppressed,  of  whatever  name,  creed  or 
color.*  His  bright,  benignant  face  is  now  forever  hidden  from  our 
sight  ;  his  cheery  step  will  no  more  attract  the  reverent  atten 
tion  of  the  stranger  ;  ws  have  no  longer  the  benefit  of  his 
advice  when  the  wretched  is  to  be  saved  or  the  erring  admon 
ished  :  but  the  remembrance  of  the  just  man  will  never  die 
out  of  the  hearts  that  have  known  and  loved  him. 

"The  rich  and  the  poor  meet  together,  and  the  Lord  is  the 
Father  of  them  all,"  might  stand  for  the  motto  of  Mr.  Hopper's 
life.  That  the  most  remote  of  these  two  classes  stood  on  the 
same  level  of  benevolent  interest  in  his  mind,  his  whole  career 
made  obvious  ;  he  was  the  last  man  to  represent  as  naturally 
opposite  those  whom  God  has  always,  even  "  to  the  end  of  the 
world,"  made  mutually  dependent.  He  told  the  simple  truth  to 
each  with  equal  frankness  ;  he  helped  both  with  equal  readiness. 
The  palace  awed  him  no  more  than  the  hovel  suggested 
thoughts  of  superiorify.  Nothing  human — however  grand  or 
however  degraded — was  a  stranger  to  him.  In  the  light  which 
came  to  him  from  Heaven,  all  stood  alike  children  of  the  Great 

*  The  slight  sketch  of  Father  Hopper,  inserted  here,  is  taken  from  a  little  book  by 
the  present  author,  called  the  '  Helping  Hand,'  written  for  the  benefit  of  the  '  Home,'  of 
the  New  York  Prison  Association,  so  long  an  object  of  interest  with  him  His  life  has 
eince  been  published  by  Mrs.  L.  M.  Child. 


246  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

Father  ;  earthly  distinctions  disappearing  the  moment  the  sink 
ing  soul  or  the  suffering  body  was  in  question.  No  amount  of 
depravity  could  extinguish  his  hope  of  reform  ;  no  recurrence  of 
ingratitude  could  paralyze  his  efforts.  Early  and  late,  sup 
ported  or  unsupported,  praised  or  ridiculed — he  went  forward  to 
the  great  work  of  relief,  looking  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor 
to  the  left ;  and  when  the  object  was  accomplished,  he  shrank 
back  into  modest  obscurity,  only  to  wait  till  a  new  necessity 
called  for  his  re-appearance.  Who  can  number  the  poor,  ach 
ing,  conscious,  despairing  hearts  that  have  felt  new  life  come  to 
them  from  his  kind  words,  his  benignant  smile,  his  "  helping 
hand  ?"  If  the  record  of  his  long  life  could  be  fully  written, — 
which  it  can  never  be,  since  every  day  and  all  day,  in  company, 
in  the  family  circle,  with  children,  with  prisoners,  with  the 
insane — "  virtue  went  out  of  him"  that  no  human  observation 
could  measure  or  describe, — what  touching  interest  would  be 
added  to  the  history  of  our  poor  and  vicious  population  for 
more  than  half  a  century  past ;  what  new  honor  and  blessing 
would  surround  the  venerated  name  of  our  departed  friend  and 
leader  ! 

But  he  desired  nothing  of  this.  Without  claiming  for  him  a 
position  above  humanity,  which  alone  would  account  for  a  w.ll- 
ingness  to  be  wholly  unrecognized  as  a  friend  of  the  afflicted,  it 
is  not  too  much  to  say  that  no  man  was  ever  less  desirous  of 
public  praise  or  outward  honor.  He  was  even  unwilling  that 
any  care  should  be  taken  to  preserve  the  remembrance  of  his 
features,  sweet  and  beautiful  as  they  were,  though  he  was 
brought  reluctantly  to  yield  to  the  anxious  wishes  of  his  child 
ren  and  friends,  that  the  countenance  on  which  every  eye  loved 
to  dwell,  should  not  be  wholly  lost  when  the  grave  should  close 


SAINTS   OF   OUR   DAY.  247 

above  it.  He  loved  to  talk  of  interesting  cases  of  reform  and 
recovery,  both  because  these  things  occupied  his  mind,  and 
because  every  one  loved  to  hear  him  ;  but  the  hearer  who  made 
these  disclosures  the  occasion  for  unmeaning  compliment,  as  if 
he  fancied  a  craving  vanity  to  have  prompted  them,  soon  found 
himself  rebuked  by  the  straight-forward  and  plain-spoken  patri 
arch.  Precious  indeed  were  those  seasons  of  outpouring,  when 
one  interesting  recital  suggested  another,  till  the  listener  seemed 
to  see  the  whole  mystery  of  prison-life  and  obscure  wretchedness 
laid  open  before  him  with  the  distinctness  of  a  picture.  For, 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  our  friend  had  under  his  plain  garb — 
unchanged  in  form  since  the  days  of  Dr.  Franklin,  to  go  no 
further  back — a  fine  dramatic  talent,  and  could  not  relate  the 
humblest  incident  without  giving  a  picturesque  or  dramatic 
turn,  speaking  now  for  one  character,  now  for  another,  with  a 
variety  and  discrimination  very  remarkable.  This  made  his 
company  greatly  sought,  and  as  his  strongly  social  nature  read" 
ily  responded,  his  acquaintance  was  very  large.  To  every  one 
that  knew  him  personally,  I  can  appeal  for  the  truth  and  mod 
eration  of  these  views  of  his  character  and  manners. 

A  few  biographical  items  will  close  what  I  venture  to  offer 
here. 

Isaac  T.  Hopper  was  born  December  3, 1111,  in  the  township 
of  Deptford,  Gloucester  County,  West  Jersey,  but  spent  a  large 
portion  of  his  life  in  Philadelphia,  where  he  served  his  appren 
ticeship  to  the  humble  calling  of  a  tailor.  But  neither  the 
necessity  for  constant  occupation  nor  the  temptations  of  youth 
ful  gaiety,  prevented  his  commencing,  even  then,  the  devotion  of 
a  portion  of  his  time  to  the  care  of  the  poor  and  needy.  He 
had  scarcely  reached  man's  estate  when  we  find  him  an  active 


248  AUTUMN   HOURS 

member  of  a  benevolent  association,  and  his  volumes  of  notes  of 
cases,  plans  and  efforts,  date  back  to  that  early  period.  To 
that  time  also  we  are  to  refer  the  beginning  of  his  warm  anti- 
slavery  sentiment,  a  feeling  so  prominent  and  effective  through 
out  his  life,  and  the  source  of  some  of  his  noblest  efforts  and 
sacrifices.  For  many  years  he  served  as  Inspector  of  Prisons  in 
Philadelphia,  and  thus,  by  long  and  constant  practical  observa 
tion,  was  accumulated  that  knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  in  its 
darkest  windings,  that  often  astonished  the  objects  of  his  care, 
when  they  thought  they  had  been  able  cunningly  to  blind  his 
eyes  to  their  real  character  and  intentions.  After  his  removal 
to  New  York,  and  when  the  occasion  for  his  personal  labors  in 
the  cause  of  the  slave  had  in  some  measure  ceased  or  slackened, 
he  threw  his  whole  heart  into  the  Prison  Association,  whose  aims 
and  plans  of  action  were  entirely  in  accordance  with  his  views, 
and  indeed  in  a  great  degree  based  on  his  experience  and  advice. 
The  intent  of  the  Prison  Association  is  three-fold  :  first,  to  pro 
tect  and  defend  those  who  are  arrested,  and  who,  as  is  well 
known,  often  suffer  greatly  from  want  of  honest  and  intelligent 
counsel  ;  secondly,  to  attend  to  the  treatment  and  instruction 
of  convicts  while  in  prison  ;  and  thirdly,  on  their  discharge  to 
render  them  such  practical  aid  as  shall  enable  the  repentant  to 
return  to  society  by  means  of  the  pursuit  of  some  honest  calling. 
This  latter  branch  occupied  Father  Hopper's  time  and  atten 
tion,  and  he  devoted  himself  to  it  with  an  affectionate  and 
religious  earnestness  that  ceased  only  with  his  life.  No  disposi 
tion  was  too  perverse  for  his  efforts  at  reform  ;  no  heart  was 
so  black  that  he  did  not  at  least  try  the  balm  of  healing  upon 
it ;  no  relapses  could  tire  out  his  patience,  which,  without  weak 
waste  of  means,  still,  apostolically,  went  on,  "  hoping  all  things" 


SAINTS   OF   OUR  DAY.  249 

while  even  a  dying  spark  of  good  feeling  remained.  Tip  to 
February  1852  did  this  venerable  saint  continue  his  abundant 
labors  ;  when  a  severe  cold  co-operating  with  the  decay  of 
nature,  brought  him  his  sentence  of  dismissal.  He  felt  that  it 
was  on  the  way,  and  with  the  serious  grace  that  marked  every 
thing  he  did,  he  began  at  once  to  gather  his  earthly  robes  about 
him  and  prepare  for  the  great  change,  which  no  one  could  dread 
less.  It  was  hard  for  those  who  saw  his  ruddy  cheek  and 
sparkling  eye,  his  soft  brown  hair  and  sprightly  movements,  to 
feel  that  the  time  of  his  departure  was  drawing  nigh  ;  but  he 
knew  and  felt  it,  with  more  composure  than  his  friends  could 
summon.  It  might  well  be  said  of  this  our  beloved  patriarch, 
that  "  his  eye  was  not  dim,  nor  his  natural  force  abated."  To 
the  last  of  his  daily  journeyings  through  the  city,  for  which  he 
generally  used  the  rail-road,  he  would  never  allow  the  drivers  to 
stop  for  him  to  get  on  or  off  the  car — feeling,  as  he  used  smil 
ingly  to  observe,  "very  jealous  on  that  point."  Few  ever 
passed  him  in  the  street  without  asking  who  he  was  ;  for  not 
only  did  his  primitive  dress,  his  broad-brimmed  hat,  and  his 
antique  shoe-buckles,  attract  attention,  but  the  beauty  and 
benevolence  of  his  face  was  sure  to  fix  the  eye  of  ordinary  dis 
cernment.  He  was  a  living  temperance  lecture,  and  those  who 
desire  to  preserve  good  looks  could  not  ask  a  more  infallible 
recipe,  than  that  sweet  temper  and  out-flowing  benevolence 
which  made  his  countenance  please  every  eye.  Gay  and  cheer 
ful  as  a  boy,  he  had  ever  some  pleasant  anecdote  or  amusing 
turn  to  relate,  and  in  all  perhaps  not  one  without  a  moral  bear 
ing,  not  thrust  forward,  but  left  to  be  picked  out  by  the  hearer 
at  his  leisure.  He  seemed  born  to  show  how  great  strictness  in 
essentials  could  exist  without  the  least  asceticism  in  trifles.  Any 


250  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

thing  but  a  Simeon  Stylites  in  his  sainthood,  he  could  go  among 
"  publicans  and  sinners"  without  the  least  fear  of  being  mista 
ken  by  them  for  one  of  themselves.  An  influence  radiated  from 
him  that  made  itself  felt  in  every  company,  though  he  would 
very  likely  be  the  most  modest  man  present.  More  gentlemanly 
manners  and  address  no  court  in  Christendom  need  require  ;  his 
resolute  simplicity  and  candor,  always  under  the  guidance  of  a 
delicate  taste,  never  for  a  moment  degenerated  into  coarseness, 
or  disregard  even  of  the  prejudices  of  others.  His  life,  even  In 
these  minute  particulars,  showed  how  the  whole  man  was  har 
monized  by  the  sense  of  being 

"  Ever  in  the  great  Taskmaster's  eye." 

He  died  on  the  7th  of  May,  1852,  in  his  eighty-first  year, 
and  a  public  funeral  in  the  Tabernacle  brought  together  thous 
ands  desirous  of  showing  respect  to  his  memory. 

Would  we  had  more  City  missionaries  like  those  we  have 
spoken  of !  What  a  change  would  be  wrought,  even  in  our 
great  metropolis,  by  the  labors  of  fifty  such  men  as  Amos 
Lawrence,  Peter  Cooper  and  Isaac  T.  Hopper  !  We  will  not 
presume  to  indicate  the  particular  work  that  each  class  might 
undertake,  but  we  see  every  day  something  fitted  for  every 
hand.  No  need  of  seeking  the  far  Indies  for  a  field  of  noble 
action.  The  success  of  the  Five  Points  Mission,  under  the  inde 
fatigable  care  of  Mr.  Pease,  is  hint  enough,  though  on  a  scale 
so  small.  The  marvel  is  that  the  men  who  have  made  fortunes 
in  the  fostering  lap  of  our  great  and  prosperous  city,  can  sit 
down  content  without  doing  something  proportionate  for  the  pub 
lic  good — for  the  benefit  of  their  own  children  or  successors,  for 


SAINTS  OF   OUR  DAY.  251 

a  memorial  of  gratitude  to  God  and  man.  One  would  think 
there  were  instances  enough  of  the  curse  that  attaches,  by 
a  natural  process,  to  wealth  unblest,  if  the  sweetness  of  doing 
nobly  were  not  inducement  enough.  May  the  day  be  not  long 
deferred  when  humanity  and  public  spirit  will  not  appear  so 
splendid  as  they  do  now  ! 

"Precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  is  the  death  of  his 
saints  ;"  precious  should  their  lives  be  in  the  hearts  of  living 
men.  Such  lives  need  little  commendation  ;  simple  description 
is  their  best  praise.  They  cannot  be  contemplated  without 
profit,  let  us  hope  without  some  attempt — some  hope — at  least 
some  wish — towards  imitation.  Well  says  the  prayer  book  : — 
"  We  bless  Thy  holy  name  for  all  Thy  servants  departed  this 
life  in  Thy  faith  and  fear."  The  aroma  of  such  lives  is  sanative 
to  all  around.  Preaching  may  fail,  but  a  good  life  never  ; 
there  is  something  in  our  nature  that  must  ever  respond  and 
thrill  under  the  influence  of  heavenly  charity.  With  these  men, 
it  was  no  incident,  but  an  object — the  object — for  which  they 
lived.  They  saw  work  to  be  done  for  their  fellows  and  they 
did  it.  It  seems  on  this  simple  statement  as  if  no  man  could  do 
otherwise  and  be  a  man  ;  yet  by  the  condition  of  things  around 
us,  how  few  there  must  be  that  view  the  duty  of  life  under  so 
simple  and  true  and  wholesome  an  aspect ! 


WHAT  MUST  BE  MUST, 


CHAPTER      I. 

"  I  AM  afraid  you  will  educate  Mary  to  death,  my  dear,"  said 
Mr.  Austin  to  his  wife,  in  reply  to  a  long  detail  of  her  plans 
for  the  perfecting  of  this  her  only  daughter.  "  Too  much  edu 
cation  is  as  bad  as  too  little." 

"  Too  much  education,  Mr.  Austin  !  who  ever  heard  of  such 
a  thing  ?  Everybody  is  complaining  of  the  want  of  education 
among  us,  and  you,  yourself,  I  am  sure,  often  criticise  young 
ladies,  and  say  they  are  miserably  educated.  But  you  are  the 
strangest  man  !  Haven't  I  always  kept  Mary  under  my  own 
eye,  and  had  masters  and  governesses  for  her,  instead  of  sending 
her  to  a  fashionable  school,  where  she  would  have  learned 
frivolity  and  nonsense,  and  given  up  society  that  I  might  never 
lose  sight  of  her  for  a  moment  ?  Haven't  I  watched  even  her 
mantua-maker,  and  forbidden  her  to  describe  the  finery  of  other 
customers,  and  bought  Mary's  bonnets  myself,  without  even 
letting  her  try  them  on,  lest  she  should  become  vain  ?  I  am 
sure  I  don't  know  what  more  a  mother  could  do  for  a 
child " 


WHAT  MUST   BE   MUST.  253 

"  You  forget,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Austin,  quietly,  "  that  I 
warned  you  against  doing  too  much,  not  too  little.  My  fears 
point  rather  toward  Mary's  becoming  a  mere  automaton,  for 
want  of  the  habit  of  thinking  and  acting  for  herself,  than  to  any 
deficiency  in  the  list  of  her  accomplishments.  Mary  is  seven 
teen  now,  and  might  be  trusted,  I  think,  to  her  own  judgment 
sometimes.  But  you  know,  I  never  interfere,  my  dear,"  Mr. 
Austin  concluded,  as  he  saw  a  look  of  deep  dejection  settling  on 
the  face  of  his  wife.  "  I  dare  say  you  know  best,  but  I  thought 
I  would  make  the  suggestion."  And  the  good  husband  took 
his  hat  and  gloves  and  went  off  to  his  office,  rather  sorry  that 
he  should  have  said  a  word  which  might  grieve  or  discourage 
the  most  anxious  and  self-devoted  of  mothers,  even  for  the 
benefit  of  the  most  precious  of  daughters. 

Mrs.  Austin,  on  her  part,  was  made  irremediably  miserable 
for  the  whole  day.  If  she  had  a  hobby,  it  was  the  education 
of  Mary.  She  had  been  a  theorist  on  the  subject  of  education 
before  she  possessed  a  daughter  on  whom  to  practice  ;  and 
when  she  had  one,  she  began  on  the  most  profound  principles 
laid  down  in  her  favorite  books  before  the  child  was  a  month 
old.  It  proved  no  easy  matter  to  adhere  closely  to  rules,  for, 
to  her  surprise,  she  found  many  cases  not  provided  for  in  any 
of  the  books  ;  but  she  did  what  she  could.  When  she  could 
not  follow  Mrs.  Hamilton,  she  tried  to  find  a  precedent  in 
Rousseau,  and  when  Mrs.  Child  failed  her,  she  sought  instruc 
tion  in  Mrs.  Chapone,  or  Locke,  or  Hannah  More,  or  Dr. 
Gregory,  or  some  one  of  the  good  ladies  who  have  given  tons 
of  advice  to  the  wives,  mothers,  grand-mothers  and  cousins  of 
England  and  America.  And  now  to  meet  an  implied  censure  1 
and  from  her  husband,  who  had  always  approved  of  all  she  did, 


254  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

and  contrasted  Mary  and  her  accomplishments  with  universal 
girldom,  so  exultingly  !  It  was  too  much  for  her  philosophy. 

"  Mother,"  said  Mary,  entering  at  the  moment  when  all  this 
and  much  more  had  come  full  upon  the  unhappy  parent  ; 
"  Mother  !  shall  I  wear  my  new  dress  to-day  ?" 

"  Wear  whatever  you  like,  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Austin,  de 
termined  to  begin  at  once  to  give  Mary  up  to  her  own  control, 
a  sort  of  despair  nerving  her  for  the  sacrifice  of  her  cherished 
supervision. 

Mary  looked  at  her  mother,  scarcely  trusting  her  ears.  She 
observed  the  cloud,  and  added,  "  Perhaps,  mamma,  you  would 
rather  I  should  wear  something  else  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear,"  was  the  sad-toned  reply.  And  Mary  with 
drew  in  a  complete  puzzle,  not  knowing  what  to  do  in  so  trying 
an  emergency.  She  stood  balancing  between  the  new  dress 
she  longed  to  wear,  and  the  old  one  she  more  than  half  suspected 
her  mother  wished  her  to  put  on,  in  a  most  painful  uncertainty. 
The  new  one  was  taken  up  and  •  laid  down  a  half  dozen  times, 
and  the  old  one  glanced  at  as  often  ;  the  time  for  dressing  al 
most  elapsed,  and  the  first  master's  hour  was  on  the  point  of 
striking,  and  still  Mary  dutifully  balanced.  What  a  relief  was 
the  sound  of  her  mother's  voice  at  the  door. 

"  Mary,  I  think  as  the  walking  is  very  bad,  and  you  are 
going  out,  perhaps  you  had  better  reserve  your  new  dress  for 
another  day,  but  you  can  do  just  as  you  like."  And  both  were 
pleased — the  mother  to  think  she  had  not  controlled  Mary,  and 
the  daughter  that  she  was  saved  the  new  trouble  of  deciding 
for  herself. 


WHAT   MUST   BE    MUST.  255 


CHAPTER     II. 

WAS  Mary  always  so  submissive  ?  She  endeavored  to  be  so, 
for  she  was  a  good  girl  ;  but  she  did  not  invariably  succeed,  for 
she  had  been  endowed  by  nature  with  a  mind  and  heart,  and 
such  things  are  apt  to  assert  their  rights  in  spite  of  education. 
Habit  has  a  wonderful  influence,  and  makes  things  easy  which 
would  else  be  intolerable.  Mary  had  never  known  freedom  of 
any  kind.  She  had  always  been  surrounded  .with  tender  re 
straints,  as  if  by  a  netting  of  strong  wires,  gilded,  but  impas 
sable.  Young  companions  had  been  selected  for  her,  brought 
in  with  a  formal  introduction  and  a  command,  implied  at  least, 
to  love  and  cherish  ;  but  these  expedients  turned  out,  as  such 
,  things  always  must,  complete  failures,  and  Mary  preferred  her 
books,  her  music,  her  flowers  and  her  needle-work,  to  such  un 
natural  associations.  So  she  grew  up  a  perfect  child,  without 
any  of  those  precocious  initiations  into  the  ways  of  the  world 
which  are  so  apt  to  be  the  consequence  of  unlimited  acquaint 
ance.  She  read  many  books,  but  they  were  either  books  of 
direct  instruction,  conned  at  the  rate  of  a  certain  number  of 
pages  per  day,  or  they  were  full  of  erasures,  leaves  pasted  to 
gether,  and  notes  of  qualification  or  dissent,  the  work  of  the 
mother  who  had  determined  to  be  taste,  conscience,  and  judg 
ment  to  her  daughter,  until  such  time  as  she  should  have  arrived 
at  years  of  discretion.  When  this  important  period  was  likely 
to  arrive  it  was  not  easy  to  say.  At  seventeen  it  was  certainly 
as  far  off  as  ever. 
But  this  hint  from  Mr.  Austin,  this  cruel  blow  from  a  qu»r*'"* 


256  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

whence  it  was  least  anticipated,  this  flash  of  unwelcome  light, 
which  suggested  nothing  but  darkness,  changed  the  whole  cur 
rent  of  Mrs.  Austin's  life  and  Mary's.  Such  things  come  upon 
us  with  double  power  when  they  give  force  and  form  to  sus 
picions  which  we  have  before  entertained  but  would  not  acknow 
ledge.  An  unpleasant  sense  of  Mary's  lack  of  individuality  had 
often,  within  a  year  or  two,  suggested  itself  to  Mrs.  Austin, 
but  she  had  crushed  down  the  unwelcome  thought,  as  a  heresy 
against  the  true  theory  of  education.  That  was  past  now, 
and  her  vexation  was  proportioned  to  the  dissolution  of  a  life 
long  dream.  Mary  must  act  for  herself  ;  and  in  coming  to  this 
resolution,  her  mother  felt  very  much  as  she  would  have  done 
if  cruel  necessity  had  obliged  her  to  throw  her  darling  over 
board  at  sea,  to  take  her  chance  on  a  single  plank. 


CHAPTER     III. 

MARY  had  never  walked  out  alone  in  her  life  ;  but  the  time 
had  now  come  when  she  must  brave  the  dangers  of  the  streets. 
Her  mother  desired  her  to  go  down  to  Stewart's,  but  fortified 
her  with  many  directions  and  cautions,  as  to  keeping  on 
the  right  side  of  the  street,  and  looking  on  all  sides  before 
crossing. 

She  was  rather  pleased  with  the  novelty,  and  performed  her 
errand  very  well,  though  with  somewhat  of  the  timid  and  sus 
picious  air  of  a  deaf  and  dumb  person,  who  walks  in  the  crowd 
but  not  of  it.  On  her  return,  a  beautiful  large  dog  attracted 
her  attention  as  she  was  crossing  the  street,  and  the  next  in- 


WHAT    MUST    BE   MUST.  257 

stant  she  was  knocked  down  by  a  passing  carriage,  driven  at 
the  furious  rate  so  common  among  us. 

The  blow  was  slight,  but  it  frightened  her  excessively,  and 
she  was  taken  up  and  put  into  another  carriage  by  the  gentle 
man  to  whom  the  dog  belonged,  before  she  fully  recovered  her 
consciousness.  As  soon  as  she  was  sufficiently  collected  to 
name  her  address,  she  found  herself  on  the  way  home,  be 
wildered  and  amazed,  but  not  so  unhappy  as  might  have  been 
expected.  It  was  an  adventure,  and  the  gentleman  was  very 
gentlemanly  and  not  very  old. 

Arrived  at  her  father's  door,  Mary,  in  all  simplicity  invited 
her  protector  to  come  in,  an  invitation  which  he  did  not  fail  to 
accept.  Mrs.  Austin,  who  had  scarcely  yet  begun  to  expect 
her  daughter's  return,  was  confounded  at  the  accident,  but  yet 
more  so  at  the  sight  of  the  handsome  young  man.  She  thought 
of  certain  old  fables  and  fairy-tales,  in  which  the  very  means 
that  are  adopted  to  avert  the  decrees  of  fate,  only  operate  to 
secure  their  fulfilment.  She  saw,  as  in  a  magic  mirror,  all  the 
trouble  that  would  follow  this  unfortunate  rencontre,  and  she 
could  scarcely  be  civil  to  poor  Philip  Wentworth,  who  looked 
very  innocent  and  inoffensive,  and  handed  her  his  card  with  an 
air  which  said,  "  you  see,  my  dear  madam,  you  have  nothing  to 
fear,"  while  Mary  related  in  her  artless  way  the  terrible  ad 
venture. 

The  protector  made  his  call  very  short,  and  Mrs.  Austin  did 
not  invite  him  to  repeat  it.  But  Mary  did,  and  he  promised 
quite  readily. 

"  How  could  you  do  so,  Mary  ?"  said  Mrs.  Austin. 

"Why,  dear  mother,  I  thought  you  had  f)rgotten  it,"  said 

Mary  ;  "  and  he  is  so  pleasant." 
17 


£58  AUTUMN    HOURS. 


CHAPTER     IV. 

THINGS  went  on  after  this,  just  as  might  have  been  expected. 
Mrs.  Austin's  worst  forebodings  were  realized.  Philip  Went- 
worth  continued  to  visit  Mary,  and  Mary  evidently  liked  him, 
although  she  was  not  the  girl  to  fall  in  love  undutifully  without 
leave.  Some  young  ladies  read  novels  as  some  old  ladies  read 
"  Domestic  Medicine,"  for  the  purpose  of  studying  symptoms, 
and  discovering  the  true  causes  of  their  own  "  feelings."  But 
Mary  had  read  few  novels,  and  those  not  of  the  description  of 
which  love  forms  the  staple,  so  she  had  heard  but  little  about 
symptoms,  and  forgot  that  she  had  any  "  feelings."  The  edu 
cation  went  on  very  much  as  usual,  since  the  sad  consequences 
of  trusting  her  out  alone  had  fully  convinced  Mrs.  Austin  that 
she  had  been  premature  in  allowing  her  to  think  for  herself. 
She  never  went  to  balls,  and  not  often  to  parties,  and  saw  not 
much  society  of  any  kind  ;  but  when  she  did  go  out,  it  was 
really  odd  to  see  how  often  she  happened  to  meet  Philip 
Wentworth. 

Now  any  young  gentleman  who  shold  have  shown  an  especial 
liking  for  Mary,  would  have  been  disagreeable  to  Mrs.  Austin, 
at  least  while  Mary  was  so  young  ;  and  Philip  Wentworth  was 
particularly  unpleasing,  because  he  had  his  fortune  to  make  in 
the  first  place,  and  also,  because,  secondly,  he  evinced  quite  too 
much  disposition  to  consider  Mary  as  a  free  agent  and  to  see 
her  act  as  one.  Every  possible  obstacle  was  thrown  in  the  way 
of  their  intercourse,  except  absolutely  forbidding  Wentworth's 
visits.  This  step  the  respectability  of  his  connections  and  his 


WHAT   MUST   BE  MUST.  259 

own  unexceptionable  character  forbade  ;  at  least  Mr.  Austin 
would  not  hear  of  it.  There  is  no  knowing  what  Mrs.  Austin 
might  have  done  if  she  had  followed  out  her  own  ideas  of  pru 
dence.  But  in  the  midst  of  her  perturbations,  and  when  she 
had  got  so  far  as  to  lose  half  of  every  night's  sleep  in  cogi 
tations,  as  to  ways  and  means  of  preserving  Mary  from  the 
snares  of  matrimony,  Philip  Wentworth  was  fortunately  obliged 
to  make  a  journey  to  the  far  South.  He  called  to  say  farewell, 
and  Mrs.  Austin  almost  groaned  aloud,  to  see  the  look  of  undis- 
girsed  regret  with  which  Mary  gave  him  her  hand  at  parting. 
Mary  was  an  artless  child,  and  she  lay  silent  on  the  sofa  half 
the  evening  after  Philip's  departure,  and  then  opened  the  piano 
and  played  voluntaries  until  bed-time.  Mrs.  Austin  gave  her 
husband  another  look,  which  said  as  sufficiently  as  looks  could, 
"  you  see  it  is  all  over." 

But  the  next  morning  Mary  resumed  her  cheerfulness,  and 
after  a  few  days  seemed  almost  to  have  forgotten  Philip. 
Hope  revived  in  Mrs.  Austin's  bosom,  and  when,  after  a  few 
weeks,  Mr.  Austin  found  himself  called  to  spend  a  part 
of  the  summer  at  the  West,  and  invited  his  wife  and  daughter 
to  accompany  him,  the  careful  mother  felt  as  if  the  game  was  in 
her  own  hands.  The  journey,  the  new  faces,  the  new  world, 
would  do  wonders.  Young  people  are  always  absorbed  in 
the  present,  and  Mary  would  soon  forget  Philip  Wentworth. 
She  showed  no  great  disposition  for  the  trip,  but  acquiesced 
quietly,  and  took  all  proper  interest  in  the  elegant  outfit  which 
her  mother  thought  proper  to  provide  for  this  peculiar  mode  of 
"  coming  out,"  the  only  one  to  which  she  meant  ever  to  subject 
Mary. 


260  AUTUMN  HOURS. 


C  H  AP  T  E  R     V. 

On  board  the  lake  steamer  our  travellers  found  a  very  charm 
ing  old  lady,  who  had  resided  for  some  years  at  the  West,  and 
who,  with  the  frankness  characteristic  of  that  social  region,  im 
parted  the  fruits  of  her  observation  of  settlers'  life  with  a  great 
deal  of  vivacity  and  good  nature  She  happened  to  be  going  to 
the  same  hotel  at  Detroit,  and  as  she  remained  there  for  several 
days,  the  acquaintance  had  become  pretty  well  ripened  before 
her  son  came  with  his  carriage  to  take  her  home.  At  parting 
she  gave  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Austin  and  Mary  a  pressing  invitation 
to  visit  her  in  the  country,  an  invitation  which  they  promised  to 
accept  before  they  left  Detroit  to  return  to  the  city. 

Detroit  is  an  exceedingly  pleasant  place  for  a  sojourn. 
Highly  cultivated  society,  a  charming  situation,  amusements  of 
all  sorts,  music,  riding,  driving,  steal  away  the  hours  before  one 
is  aware.  Yet  our  Mary,  instead  of  gaining  in  health  and  spir 
its,  evidently  declined  every  day.  The  rosy  cheek  paled,  the 
bright  eye  was  too  much  shaded  by  its  pearly  lid,  the  fingers  let 
fall  their  rings,  through  loss  of  their  pretty  roundness.  Mrs. 
Austin  began  to  fear  that  the  climate  did  not  agree  with  her 
darling,  and  urged  Mr.  Austin  to  hasten  their  return  home. 
But  this  was  not  a  proper  or  even  a  prudent  season  for  a  return 
to  the  city,  and  Mr.  Austin  proposed  first  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Ellery, 
the  pleasant  old  lady  of  the  steamer.  So  to  Meadowbank  they 
went  and  found  a  farmer's  paradise — flocks,  herds,  geese,  chick 
ens,  turkeys,  horses,  dogs,  and  last  a  good,  comfortable,  spacious 
house,  well  shaded,  and  within  a  few  moments'  walk  of  the 


WHAT    MUST    BE    MUST.  261 

primeval  woods.     The  welcome  was  in  proportion  to  all  the 
other  abundance. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Austin  could  not  but  find  all  this  very  charm 
ing  for  a  day  or  two,  though  they  were  not  the  sort  of  people 
for  the  country.  But  Mary  !  Never  was  there  a  creature  so 
happy.  It  was  her  first  sight  of  unmarred  Nature,  and  all  her 
troubles,  (if  she  had  any,)  were  forgotten  in  the  intoxication  of 
a  sweet  and  most  natural  pleasure  She  rode,  she  ran,  she 
climbed  fences,  she  milked  cows,  (or  tried  to  do  it,)  she  fed  the 
chickens  till  they  followed  her  in  flocks.  She  rambled  in  the 
dense  old  woods  with  Mrs.  Ellery's  grand-children,  from  breakfast 
time  till  dinner,  in  spite  of  all  Mrs.  Austin's  fears  of  cougars 
and  rattle-snakes.  This  was  evidently  the  place  for  her,  what 
ever  it  was  to  her  father  and  mother,  and  they  were  reluctant  to 
propose  the  return  for  which  their  souls  were  longing.  Besides 
how  to  prolong  a  visit  of  those  guests,  who  must  consider  them 
selves  only  chance  acquaintances  !  It  would  never  do,  and  Ma 
ry  was  desired  to  prepare  for  the  return  to  Detroit.  Here  was 
a  sad  affair.  Mary  cried  heartily,  she  could  not  help  it.  The 
love  of  trees,  and  grass,  and  thronging  domestic  creatures,  is  a 
fountain  of  pleasure  to  unspoiled  hearts,  and  to  Mary  this 
source  of  happiness  was  so  new.  Fortunately,  good  Mrs. 
Ellery  needed  not  the  sight  of  her  young  guest's  tear-stained 
eyes,  to  impel  her  to  kind  urgency  for  a  longer  visit ;  and  when 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Austin  could  not  be  prevailed  upon,  she  begged 
for  Mary,  until  Mr.  Austin  was  fain  to  yield.  The  idea  of 
leaving  Mary  behind,  could  not,  at  first,  be  made  intelligible  to 
Mrs.  Austin.  The  imprudence,  the  utter  insanity  of  trusting  a 
child  of  that  age  alone,  was  too  great.  But  her  husband,  who 
had  observed  with  delight  Mary's  spirits  and  returning  roses, 


262  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

reminded  her  that  the  child  could  hardly  be  considered  quite 
alone,  with  good  Mrs.  Ellery,  her  son,  and  his  wife,  and  their 
children,  not  to  mention  the  horses,  cows,  pigs,  chickens  and 
lambs,  with  whom  Mary  was  nearly  as  intimate  and  as  happy. 
He  suggested  too,  that  while  she  was  in  the  woods  she  was  not 
near  Philip  Wentworth  ;  and  we  rather  think  it  was  this  crown 
ing  argument,  which  he  wisely  reserved  for  the  last,  that  decided 
the  point  in  Mary's  favor. 


CHAPTER     VI. 

The  wild  delight  of  flying  about  from  morning  till  night 
palled  somewhat,  after  a  few  days,  and  Mary  found  her  chief 
pleasure  in  the  grand  old  woods  that  skirted  the  ample  farm  of 
Mrs,  Ellery.  Here  she  would  wander,  half  pensively,  "  think 
ing,"  of  course  "of  nothing  at  all,"  or  recline  on  some  mossy 
bank,  while  the  children  wreathed  her  hair  with  the  thousand 
wild  flowers  that  bloomed  in  every  spot  to  which  the  sun  found 
access.-  So  charming  was  the  calm  solitude,  that  she  often 
remained  with  her  young  companions  in  some  favorite  spot,  un 
til  the  westering  sun,  and  the  voice  of  lowing  herds  returning 
to  their  milking,  recalled  her  wandering  thoughts. 

It  was  on  some  such  occasion,  when  a  splendid  sunset,  such  as 
one  sees  to  perfection  in  the  country  of  the  great  lakes,  detained 
her  later  than  usual,  that  she  was  alarmed  by  the  bounds 
of  what  she  thought  might  be  a  wild  animal,  which  approached 
from  the  side  next  Mrs.  Ellery's.  In  a  moment  it  stood  before 
her,  and  proved  to  be  only  a  large  spotted  dog,  very  much  like 


WHAT    MUST    BE   MUST.  263 

the   one  which  introduced   her  to   Philip   Wentworth   a  few 
months  before. 

"  Carlo  1"  she  said,  and  the  fine  fellow  wagged  his  tail  as 
intelligibly  as  a  dog  could,  and  laid  his  head  against  her  hand. 
Could  it  be  her  old  acquaintance  ? 

"  Carlo  1"  she  said  again,  and  bowed  her  head  over  him,  till 
the  flowers  fell  from  her  head  in  showers  on  his  broad  back. 
"  Where  is  thy  master  ?"  But  this  question  was  in  her  heart 
only,  when  she  raised  her  head  and  he  stood  before  her. 

To  describe  the  blushes  that  ensued,  would  require  an  imagi 
nation  as  vivid  as  that  of  Ole  Bull's  friend,  the  painter,  who 
heard  scarlet  in  certain  tones  of  the  violin.  The  tones  of  Philip 
Wentworth's  voice  produced  a  deep  red  color  on  Mary  Austin's 
cheeks,  but  we  do  not  attempt  to  philosophize  upon  the  fact. 
Our  readers  must  make  what  they  can  of  it. 

"  How  did  you  come  here  !"  was  Mary's  first  coherent  ques 
tion. 

"  I  came,  like  little  Red  Riding  Hood,  to  see  my  grand 
mother,"  said  Philip  laughing  ;  "  but  I  find  you  have  been  be 
forehand  with  me,  with  your  pot  of  butter,  or  custard,  or  some 
thing  which  has  stolen  away  her  heart,  while  I  was  away." 
And  they  went  home  together  arm  in  arm,  after  a  fashion  which 
would  have  made  Mrs.  Austin  groan  indeed,  if  she  had  been 
perched  in  one  of  the  great  oaks,  looking  on. 

That  evening  Mary  never  thought  of  writing  to  her  mother, 
to  tell  of  this  unforeseen  accident ;  but  with  morning  came  cool 
reflection,  and  she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  long,  dutiful  letter, 
mentioning,  just  before  the  close,  that  Mr.  Wentworth  had 
arrived  on  a  visit  to  his  grandmother,  Mrs.  Ellery.  This  she 
knew  would  bring  her  parents,  post-haste  ;  and  when  she  had 


264  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

thus  discharged  her  conscience,  she  was  not  very  sorry  when 
Mrs.  Ellery  informed  her  that  as  there  was  only  a  weekly  mail, 
her  letter  could  not  reach  Detroit  in  several  days. 

We  do  not  pretend  to  have  been  present  at  all  the  conversa 
tions  which  may  have  passed  between  the  two  friends,  thus  re 
united,  when  they  thought  themselves  far  asunder.  We  dare 
say  they  had  many  adventures  to  relate,  with  descriptions  of 
people  they  had  met  in  their  travels  and  such  like  topics.  We 
have  reason  to  believe  they  learned  to  understand  each  other 
very  well  ;  although  we  will  answer  for  it  that  Wentworth  was 
too  much  of  a  man  of  honor  to  entrap  the  guileless  Mary  into 
an  engagement  without  the  sanction  of  her  parents.  He  had 
been  educated  by  old-fashioned  people. 

"There  !"  said  Mrs.  Austin  to  her  husband,  "you  see,  my 
dear,  what  your  plan  of  trusting  Mary  to  her  own  guidance  has 
come  to,  at  last  !  I  told  you  so  !  I  knew  this  would  be  the 
consequence  !  After  all  my  care  and  anxiety,  she  is  gone  !" 
and  the  good  lady  dropt  some  natural  tears. 

"  Gone  !  what  are  you  thinking  of,  my  dear  !  instead  of 
losing  a  daughter  we  have  gained  a  son,  and  a  capital  fellow  he 
is,  too  ;  honorable,  considerate,  and  as  fond  of  Mary  as  you  can 
desire.  All  your  care  has  met  with  its  reward,  and  Philip  will 
bear  witness  to  the  fact  a  dozen  years  hence.  Education  has 
done  its  part  admirably  thus  far,  but  now  that  nature  has 
asserted  her  rights,  it  will  go  on  more  profitably  than  ever. 
Mary  will  be  quite  a  woman  by  the  time  she  is  ready  to  be 
married  !" 

And  this  was  all  the  comfort  Mrs.  Austin  had  from  her  hus 
band,  so  unreasonable  is  the  stronger  sex. 


MAKING  LOVE  SCIENTIFICALLY, 

"  A  monstrous  spectacle  upon  the  earth, 
Beneath  the  pleasant  sun,  among  the  trees, 
— A  being  knowing  not  what  LOVE  is  1 

A  man  that  dares  affect 
To  spend  his  life  in  service  to  his  kind 
For  no  reward  of  theirs,  nor  bound  to  them 
By  any  tie.          *          *          *          * 

There  are  strange  punishments  for  such." 

BEOWNINO'S  Paracelsus. 

AMOXG  the  Fabliaux  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries 
is  a  laughable  story  of  the  philosopher  Aristotle,  who  is  repre 
sented  as  saddled  and  bridled  for  the  amusement  of  a  malicious 
beauty,  and  cantering  about  a  garden  under  the  weight  of  her 
slender  form,  while  Alexander,  afterwards  the  Great,  the  pupil 
of  Aristotle,  enjoys  the  joke  from  a  window.  It  seems  that  the 
sage,  having  discovered  the  devotion  of  his  august  disciple  to 
the  lady  in  question,  had  reproved  him  very  sharply  for  his 
weak  subjection  to  the  tender  passion  ;  representing  love  as 
incompatible  with  the  study  of  philosophy,  and  ridiculing  the 
idoa  of  a  man  of  sense  placing  himself  in  the  power  of  a  woman, 
naturally  his  inferior  in  the  scale  of  creation.  The  pupil  was  a 
good  deal  nettled  by  the  severe  remarks  of  his  master,  but  he 
concealed  his  vexation,  and  humbly  promised  that  the  fascina- 


266  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

tions  of  beauty  should  no  longer  seduce  his  thoughts  from  the 
contemplation  of  wisdom. 

But  he  had  devised  at  subtle,  we  had  almost  said  a  savage 
method  of  revenge  upon  his  master,  and  very  soon  found  an 
opportunity  of  putting  it  in  practice.  In  cold  blood  and  with 
malice  aforethought,  he  managed  to  place  the  stern  preacher  of 
prudence  and  self-command  within  point-blank  range  of  the 
lady's  eyes,  and  won  her  over  to  use,  in  the  service  of  his 
revenge,  all  the  powers  of  fascination  which  had  proved  effectual 
in  enslaving  himself.  The  philosopher  was  of  course  very  soon 
charmed  into  forgetfulness  of  his  grand  dogmas,  for  your  philoso 
pher  is  proverbially  weak  at  all  weapons  but  his  own.  Beauty, 
wit,  grace,  were  put  in  requisition  with  the  fullest  success  ; 
coquetry  added  her  freaks  ;  and,  in  a  word,  in  a  marvellously 
short  time,  the  wise  man  became  a  fool,  as  so  many  wise  men 
have  done  before  him  under  the  same  circumstances.  And  thus 
we  arrive  at  the  explanation  of  the  scene  with  a  sketch  of  which 
we  began.  Among  the  incredible  follies  which  the  malicious 
beauty  devised  for  the  humiliation  of  her  awkward  captive,  was 
a  requisition  on  her  part  that  he  should  suffer  himself  to  be  sad 
dled  and  bridled,  and  accept,  for  the  reward  of  his  obedience, 
the  honor  and  delight  of  carrying  his  goddess  about  her  garden. 
He  only  stipulated  for  a  scene  closely  shielded  from  vulgar  eyes, 
lest,  by  some  accidental  betrayal,  his  reputation  as  a  teacher  of 
wisdom  should  suffer,  and  above  all  in  the  estimation  of  his  royal 
pupil.  An  inner  court  of  the  palace  was  therefore  chosen,  and 
among  its  flowery  alleys  did  the  delighted  sage  prance  with  his 
fair  burden.  But.  in  the  very  midst  of  his  happiness  a  dread 
sound — a  sound  as  of  unhallowed  laughter — struck  his  ear,  and 
looking  upward,  he  beheld  in  a  window  the  face  of  the  future 


MAKING  LOVE   SCIENTIFICALLY.  267 

conqueror  of  the  world,  relaxed  to  its  last  capability  in  keen 
relish  of  the  joke. 

History  wisely  stops  htre,  nor  strives  to  express  the  inex 
pressible,  in  describing  the  abasement  of  the  great  teacher  and 
example  of  philosophy,  thus  forced  to  be  his  own  refuter.  But 
we  can  easily  conjecture  that  from  this  time  forth  the  pupil  was 
not  troubled  with  any  very  severe  remarks  on  the  absurdity  of 
being  in  love  ;  unless,  indeed,  the  teacher  drew  new  unction  for 
his  homilies  from  the  bitterness  of  his  own  experience. 

We  see,  then,  that  philosophy  began  very  early  to  be  consid 
ered  as  the  enemy  or  antidote  of  love.  What  foundation  in 
fact  there  may  be  for  this  notion,  it  is  difficult  to  say,  so  few 
successful  experiments  are  on  record.  That  it  ought  to  be  so 
has  always  rather  been  taken  for  granted  than  proved. 

Sir  Isaac  Newton,  however,  was  a  man  of  realities,  and  of 
him  it  may  truly  be  said  that  science  was  his  mistress.  She 
upheld  his  spirits,  consoled  his  solitude,  brought  him  recreation, 
and  absorbed  his  affections.  He  evidently  thought  with  Mil 
ton — 

How  charming  is  divine  Philosophy  I 

Not  harsh  and  crabbed,  as  dull  fools  suppose, 

But  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute. 

Is  it  not  strange,  by  the  way,  that  Shakspeare  uses  the  very 
same  comparison  in  speaking  of  Love,  the  antagonist  of  Philoso 
phy? 

for  valor,  is  not  Love  a  Hercules? 
Subtle  as  Sphinx ;  as  sweet  and  musical 
As  bright  Apollo's  lute,  strung  with  his  hair. 

But  so  extremes  meet. 


268  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

Newton,  however,  was  not  always  and  at  all  periods  wholly 
invulnerable  to  the  subtle  shafts  of  the  most  insidious  of  ene 
mies.  We  hold  that  a  man  must  be  thoroughly  dipped — bathed, 
indeed — in  self-esteem,  to  render  him  proof  against  such  arrows  ; 
but  the  youthful  susceptibility  of  the  sage  weigher  of  the  planets 
proves  that  his  immersion  had  not  been  complete.  History 
deigns,  for  once,  probably  in  consideration  of  the  eminence  of 
the  subject,  to  record  the  fact  of  his  having  been,  at  a  certain 
time,  deeply  smitten  with  the  daughter  of  the  lady  with  whom 
he  lodged, — an  illustration  of  the  well-known  principle,  that 
attraction  is  so  much  the  more  potent  as  the  attracting  bodies 
are  nearer  to  each  other.  Whether  he  went  so  far  as  to  enroll 
her  among  the  celestial  phenomena  we  are  not  informed,  but  the 
attraction  seems  to  have  been  proved  beyond  a  doubt,  and  we 
have  reason  to  suppose  it  was  on  the  one  side  gravity,  and  on 
the  other  magnetism  or  electricity. 

One  would  think  that  love  thus  founded  on  the  immutable 
principles  of  science  must  have  proved  an  exception  to  the 
vulgar  rule,  and  gone  on  with  the  precision  and  harmony  of  the 
spheral  ellipses.  But  our  philosopher  had  discovered  that, 
besides  attraction,  there  is  another  irresistible  force  in  nature — 
that  of  repulsion.  Now  it  was  his  habit  to  think  out  every 
thing  ;  he  said  in  his  later  days,  that  if  in  any  respect  he  had 
been  more  successful  than  other  men,  it  was  only  by  a  habit  of 
thinking.  Accordingly,  we  must  suppose  that  he  pondered 
much  and  long  upon  the  wonderfully  curious  attraction  to  which 
he  found  himself  subject,  and  speculated  as  to  its  probable 
results.  He  speculated  on  the  tremulousness  which  he  observed 
in  himself  under  certain  circumstances,  as  Le  Terrier  pursued 
the  chain  of  reasoning  which  ended  in  the  discovery  of  a  new 


MAKING  LOVE    SCIENTIFICALLY.  269 

planet.  But  orfe  of  the  conclusions  to  which  his  researches  in 
other  directions  had  brought  him,  was,  that  however  close  may 
seem  the  approach  of  any  two  bodies,  there  is  always  an  actnal 
space  between  them,  produced  by  this  said  power  of  repulsion. 
How  then  could  he,  a  philosopher,  be  satisfied  with  the  idea  of 
a  union  in  which  repulsion  as  well  as  attraction  was  to  play  its 
part  ?  Was  it  not  natural  to  refer  the  many  unhappy  mar 
riages  which  had  come  under  his  notice  to  a  want  of  recognition 
of  this  fact  in  science  ?  How  should  he  ascertain  whether,  in 
this  case,  the  repulsive  power  of  the  young  lady  might  not  over 
come  her  attraction  ? 

He  had  spent  the  morning  in  his  study,  laboring  to  fix  his 
attention  on  the  grand  problem  of  the  universe,  but  surprised 
and  vexed  to  find  it  wandering  towards  that  insignificant, 
comet-like  nebula,  a  young  woman, — which  no  telescope  that 
has  yet  been  invented  has  succeeded  in  following  rapidly  enough 
to  ascertain  its  laws  of  revolution.  Moore  has  aptly  expressed 
the  puzzle  into  which  an  astronomer  might  be  thrown  : 

"Then  awake  till  rise  of  snn,  my  dear, 
But  the  sage's  glass  we'll  shun,  my  dear; 
Lest  in  watching  the  flight, 
Of  bodies  of  light, 
He  might  happen  to  take  thee  for  one,  my  dear  I" 

But  our  sage  was  too  wise  to  try  a  telescopic  view.  He 
adhered  to  his  old  rule  of  thinking,  but  found  hosts  of  diffi 
culties  arise  in  the  course  of  his  investigation.  He  no  doubt 
tried  figures,  but  they  probably  ran  into  such  sums  as 
these — "  Two  lips,  indifferent  red  ;  two  gray  eyes,  with  lids 
to  them  ;  one  neck  ;  one  chin  ;  and  so  forth."  Or  perhaps  he 
endeavored  to  set  forth  the  substance  of  his  thoughts  in  dia- 


270  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

grams,  but  found  the  angles  anything  but  right  ones,  and 
the  straight  lines  strangely  deviating  into  the  line  of  beauty. 
In  this  perplexity,  we  may  fancy  him  summoned  to  the  dinner- 
table,  and  seated  opposite  the  gentle  disturber  of  his  peace,  eat 
ing  a  delicate  pudding — 

"  Made  by  no  hands,  as  you  may  guess, 
But  those  of  Fairly  Fair — '' 

and,  at  the  same  time,  devouring  the  maker  with  his  eyes. 
Anon  he  invites  the  maiden  to  a  seat  near  the  window,  resolved 
that  certainty  of  some  sort  shall  end  this  confusion  of  his  geo 
metrical  pericranium.  Once  well  placed,  with  green,  waving 
woods  before  him,  and  the  soft  summer  wind  playing  balmily 
about  his  brow,  he  falls  again  into  his  old  trick  of  thinking,  and 
forgets  the  firm  practical  intent  with  which  he  challenged  his 
lady-love  to  a  private  interview.  She,  poor  girl,  had  found  but 
few  defences  against  the  amiable  countenance  and  mild,  gentle 
manly,  serious  manners  of  the  young  student,  and  her  little 
heart  went  pit-a-pat,  pit-a-pat,  while  he  gazed  out  of  the  case 
ment,  she  dl  the  while  thinking  he  was  but  finding  fitting  words 
wherein  to  declare  his  mind  to  her.  He,  meanwhile,  has  lighted 
his  pipe,  and  by  its  aid  put  on  a  more  deeply  reflective  air  than 
before.  But,  alas !  the  clouds  which  undulate  and  ascend 
so  beautifully  from  the  meerschaum,  do  but  suggest  to  the  cogi 
tating  astronomer  fresh  thoughts  of  the  peopled  skies.  He  has 
forgotten  earth,  and  all  earth's  daughters ;  his  mind  has  de 
scribed  a  parabolic  curve,  and  alighted  on  frigid  Saturn,  the 
aspiring  smoke  serving  as  a  Jacob's  ladder  between  the  terres 
trial  and  and  the  superlunary.  By  and  by  the  fire  burns  low, 
the  ladder  grows  feeble  ;  the  thoughts  do  not  descend,  but  they 


MAKING    LOVE    SCIENTIFICALLY.  271 

depute  a  ray  of  intelligence  to  renew  the  aerial  rounds.  Our 
philosopher,  conscious  that  something  is  wanting,  puts  forth  his 
hand  ;  it  falls  on  the  not  unready  fingers  of  the  patient  damsel. 
She  blushes,  she  trembles,  she  wonders  within  herself  whether 
propriety  does  not  require  that  she  should  withdraw  those  poor 
little  digits.  But  ere  she  can  settle  this  point  satisfactorily  to 
both  love  and  prudence,  the  youthful  sage  has  decided  it  by 
grasping  her  hand  firmly,  and  raising  it — can  it  be  that,  in  sud 
den  and  momentary  boldness,  he  is  about  to  carry  it  to  his  lips  ? 
That  were,  indeed,  to  cut  the  gordian  knot  that  seemed  inextri 
cable.  But,  no  !  he  stops — he  removes  the  pipe  from  his 
mouth,  and  lowers  it  to  meet  the  slender  fore-finger  of  the 
maiden.  A  moment  more — a  shriek — and  Newton  is  a  bache 
lor  for  life  ! 

And  the  maiden — did  she  exclaim,  in  the  bitterness  of  her 
heart, 

"  O  star-eyed  Science,  hast  thou  wandered  there 
To  waft  us  home  the  message  of  Despair  ?" 

Or  did  she  quietly  bless  her  own  stars,  that  had,  by  timely 
warning,  saved  her  from  a  crazy  spouse  ?  As  for  the  lover, 
being,  as  Sir  David  Brewster  assures  us,  "  destitute  of  the 
faculty  of  imagination,"  he  had  probably  understood  literally  the 
poetical  expression,  "  ivory  fingers,"  and  so  concluded  that  a 
young  lady's  pretty  little  index  was  the  very  thing  for  a  tobacco 
stopper  ! 

History  is  defined  to  be  "  philosophy  teaching  by  example," 
but  this  example  of  ours  must  be  classed  amongst  the  warnings. 
Let  us  be  just,  however.  Perhaps  if  some  Niebuhr  should  sift 
the  records  of  an  occurrence  so  long  accepted  by  the  world  as  a 


272  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

significant  fact,  we  might  come  to  a  different  conclusion  as  to 
the  real  cause  of  the  accident  by  means  of  which  this  promised 
conjunction  became  a  transit,  and  Newton  was  self-condemned 
to  an  abstract  contemplation  of  the  literal,  rather  than  an  actual 
enjoyment  of  the  poetical  heavens,  while  the  bashful  maiden 
was  lost,  like  a  meteor,  in  a  cloud  of  smoke.  We  should,  our 
selves  be  disposed  to  lay  the  blame  on  tobacco,  and  to  look 
upon  this  story  of  the  philosophic  outrage  on  the  young  lady's 
finger  as  a  sly  invention  of  some  wag,  who,  knowing  that  ridi 
cule  is  more  potent  than  argument,  chose  this  way  of  sending 
forth  a  "  Counter-blast,"  less  ponderous,  but  more  pungent,  than 
the  famous  one  of  King  James  the  First,  of  blessed  memory. 
What,  indeed,  could  more  surely  enlist  the  gallantry  of  the 
world  against  tobacco,  than  the  thought  that  it  could  so  obfus 
cate  the  wits  of  the  wisest  as  to  lead  to  a  cruel  confounding  of 
animate  with  inanimate  matter  under  such  delicate  circumstan 
ces  1  Would  any  man,  "  as  is  a  man,"  as  Mrs.  Cluppins  says, 
put  himself  under  the  influence  of  a  narcotic  which  may  lead 
him  to  mistake  a  pretty  girl  for  a  stick,  and  treat  her  accord 
ingly  ? 

It  is  pleasant  to  find  that  Newton,  though  he  thus  went  off 
in  a  tangent,  under  the  influence  of  a  disturbing  force,  did  not 
wholly  renounce  his  allegiance  to  his  chosen  centre  of  attraction. 
We  are  assured  that  he  continued  all  his  life  to  feel  the  soft 
compulsion,  and  to  follow  with  a  quiet,  but  devoted  attention, 
the  fortunes  of  her  who  had  in  youth  been  his  acknowledged 
cynosure.  A  tender  friendship  occupied  the  place  from  which 
Love  had  been  scared  ;  and  our  hero  and  heroine,  after  this 
momentary  perturbation,  became  "  binary  stars,"  which  Sir 


MAKING   LOVE    SCIENTIFICALLY.  273 

William  Herschel  informs  us,  "  perform  revolutions  around  each 
other,  each  having  its  own  orbit."  The  lady's  included  a  hus 
band  and  children  ;  but  the  philosopher  finished  his  cycle  with 
out  ring  or  moon,  a  crystalline  sphere  in  the  grand  empyrean, 
or  region  of  perpetual  serenity. 
18 


AN  INCIDENT  IN  DREAM-LAND, 

IT  happened  once  that  Love — proverbially  touchy,  we  all 
know — took  high  offence  at  the  neglect  of  his  whilom  sworn 
friend  and  brother  Hymen,  who,  he  declared,  had  ceased  to  in 
vite  him  to  his  magnificent  parties  in  town.  Finding  his  tem 
per  too  warm  upon  the  occasion,  he  sought  the  cooling  influence 
of  rural  shades,  and  there  amused  himself  and  forgot  his  pettish 
enmity,  in  sending  sportive  arrows  among  groups  of  simple 
nymphs  and  swains,  as  they  raked  the  new-mown  hay  in  com 
pany,  or  pared  the  luscious  peach  or  the  firmer  apple,  to  dry,  in 
gay  festoons,  "  for  winter,  which  they  knew  must  come  ;"  or 
husked  the  golden  corn,  or  bound  the  lachrymose  onion  wreath- 
wise  upon  its  supporting  wisp  of  straw.  But,  ere  long,  weary 
ing  of  such  inglorious  sport — not  unlike  that  of  the  royal  ennuye 
who  shot  from  his  gilded  balcony  whole  hecatombs  of  game,  so 
trapped  that  it  could  neither  fight  nor  fly — he  left  the  rustic 
herd,  and  took  his  way  along  the  banks  of  a  bright  and  rapid 
stream,  which  rolled  its  gleaming  waves  through  foliage  of  every 
hue  and  outline,  reflecting  at  times  the  sun,  the  snowy  cloud, 
the  lamps  of  night,  the  leaden  hue  of  storms,  the  appalling  as 
pect  of  the  tempest — all  distinct  at  intervals,  yet  at  intervals 


AN    INCIDENT    IN    DREAM-LAND.  215 

again  fused,  as  it  were,  into  one  enchanting  and  harmonious 
whole.  Love  called  the  stream  Poetry,  and  declared  that  he 
would  always  dwell  by  its  side. 

As  he  strayed  along  delighted,  leaning  occasionally  over  the 
living  mirror,  that  he  might  see  how  it  enhanced  the  splendor 
of  his  beauty,  he  beheld,  reclining  in  the  shadow  of  a  rock,  a 
heavenly  form,  whose  wings,  folded  in  repose,  and  a  celestial 
halo  round  his  brow,  declared  him  still  unchanged  by  contact 
with  the  things  of  earth.  By  the  radiance  which  shone 
through  his  closed  lids,  and  by  the  lyre  clasped,  even  in  sleep, 
to  his  bosom,  Love  knew  the  bright  visitant  to  be  Genius.  He 
called  him  with  his  most  persuasive  voice — and  Love's  tones  are 
almost  irresistible — but  in  vain.  The  sleeper's  head  was  pil 
lowed  on  a  bed  of  poppies,  and  a  drapery  of  deadly  nightshade 
hung  from  the  rock  which  shaded  him  from  the  sun.  "  I  must 
see  those  rainbow  pinions  unfolded  to  the  light  !"  said  Love  ; 
"  of  all  my  claims  to  immortality,  none  could  be  so  indisputable 
as  the  subjugation  of  this  glorious  being  to  my  power  !" 

And,  selecting  one  of  his  keenest  arrows,  and  new-stringing 
his  bow  with  a  braided  tress  of  golden  hair,  he  wounded  the 
unguarded  bosom  of  the  slumberer. 

The  youth  started — opened  his  eyes,  bright  and  dewy  as  the 
first  glad  smile  of  morning,  and  spread  wide  his  radiant  wings 
as  if  to  find  safety  in  flight.  But  he  became  conscious  of  the 
sweet  venom  which  was  spreading  through  his  veins,  and.  with 
a  glance  half-reproachful,  half-adoring,  he  bowed  the  knee  to 
Love  and  owned  his  resistless  power,  and  asked  his  supreme 
will. 

"  Sing  1"  said  the  conqueror  ;  and  the  blended  music  of 
voice  and  lyre  filled  the  whole  air,  and,  borne  along  by  the 


276  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

waves,  awakened  to  thrilling  life  all  the  spiritual  things  that 
haunted  the  green  recesses  of  that  charmed  spot.  Love 
crowned  the  captive  with  flowers,  showered  delicious  odors 
around  his  dazzling  brow,  brought  honey  in  the  comb  white  as 
the  foam  on  the  billow,  and  presented  to  his  eager  lip  a  lily-cup 
of  sparkling  wine.  Wood-nymphs  and  naiads,  hovering  round, 
beheld  their  own  beautiful  forms  reflected  in  the  crystalline 
wings  of  the  stranger,  but  though  various  and  changeful  as  the 
light  of  parting  day,  one  face,  and  one  only,  was  there  seen  in 
every  dress,  recognized  through  every  disguise.  The  forms  and 
masks  were  painted  by  Fancy, — the  one  face  was  the  work  of 
Truth.  "  And  now,"  said  victorious  Love,  "  take  me  to  thy 
own  bright  sphere  1" 

Prompt  to  obey,  the  pleased  subject  tried  his  glittering  wings 
for  an  upward  flight.  Alas  !  overcome  by  the  too  sweet  ban 
quet,  Genius  sunk  back  upon  the  roses  which  the  victor  had 
spread  around  him.  The  halo  faded  from  his  head  ;  his  lyre 
reclined  against  a  myrtle — mute,  save  when  a  breeze  from  the 
languid  south  awakened  a  faint  echo  of  its  former  power. 

"  Sleep  then — stupid  thing  !"  said  Love,  enraged  at  the  effect 
of  his  own  spells — and  he  was  about  to  shake  over  the  lids  of 
the  fainting  captive  the  baleful  dust  of  Oblivion,  when  a  fearful 
form  appeared  from  a  rugged  wood  at  no  great  distance.  His 
hair  hung  in  wild  elf-locks  about  his  wasted  features,  and  his 
squalid  garments  scarce  concealed  his  meagre  limbs.  His  eyes 
seemed  of  stone,  and  in  his  hand  was  an  iron  sceptre,  which  has 
often  caused  even  Love  to  tremble. 

"Ha  !  Poverty  !"  said  the  baffled  tyrant,  as  he  flew  to  the 
safe  shelter  of  a  neighboring  tulip  tree,  yielding  the  field  for  the 
moment  to  his  old  enemy,  that  he  might  watch  the  effect  of  his 


AN    INCIDENT    IN    DREAM-LAND.  277 

presence  upon  the  glorious  being  whom  his  own  arts  had  reduced 
to  utter  helplessness.  The  flowers  drooped  ;  the  grass  withered  ; 
and  the  breezes  which  a  moment  before  had  breathed  of  sum 
mer,  became  chilly  as  if  wafted  from  a  wandering  ice-berg. 
With  a  sepulchral  voice  did  the  skeleton  visitor  call  on  Genius 
to  arise. 

"  Come  !  let  me  see  these  gaudy  wings  of  thine  !"  he  said, 
with  a  sneer.  But  the  youth,  shuddering,  folded  their  filmy 
leaves  over  his  eyes,  to  shut  out  the  hateful  apparition.  Pov 
erty  pushed  him  rudely  with  that  cold  iron  sceptre,  but  the 
torpedo  touch  seemed  only  still  further  to  paralyze  his  faculties 
"  Thou  dost  not  feel  me  yet  !"  exclaimed  the  fiend  ;  and  even 
as  he  spoke  he  took  the  form  of  a  hideous  dragon,  whose  folds, 
surrounding  the  victim,  began  to  narrow  upon  his  shrinking 
form,  and,  continually  contracting  the  spiral  circle,  threatened 
to  crush  him  inevitably  and  irretrievably. 

Then  rose  the  noble  youth,  roused  by  the  too  eager  malice 
of  his  foe  ;  and  shaking  off  alike  the  poppies  of  Indolence,  and 
the  roses  in  which  Love  had  enveloped  him,  he  stretched  his 
glittering  pinions,  spurned  the  earth  with  his  foot,  and  soaring 
majestically  toward  heaven,  looked  down  with  scorn  upon 
scowling  Poverty,  while  the  radiance  about  his  brow  resumed 
its  power,  and  dazzled  all  but  Love.  That  wily  god,  pursuing 
the  upward  flight  of  Genius,  strove  again  to  entrap  him  by 
means  of  certain  nets  of  silk  and  gold,  which  he  had  found  al 
most  always  successful  with  the  sons  of  earth,  but  the  heaven- 
born  youth  shook  them  off  with  a  smile  of  contempt,  while  he 
sang  to  his  enchanted  lyre  a  hymn  so  glorious,  that  earth's 
inmost  heart  thrilled  to  the  melody,  and  Love,  for  once,  owned 
himself  in  turn  a  captive. 


278  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

Love  has  been  since  that  time  rather  shy  of  attempting  to 
subdue  Genius — which  we  suppose  is  the  reason  why  so  many 
of  our  poets  are  bachelors.  Poverty  claims  to  have  been  of 
essential  service  to  the  susceptible  child  of  Heaven,  but  we 
never  heard  that  Genius  loved  him  any  the  better  for  it. 
Hymen  still  plays  his  old  tricks — forgetting  to  invite  Love  to 
his  more  splendid  feasts,  but  condescending  to  admit  him  when 
his  rich  friend  Mammon  is  not  expected. 

E.  STANSBURY.* 

*  NOTE. — I  found  this  little  sketch,  with  others,  in  an  unfinished 
form,  among  my  mother's  papers. — 0.  M.  K. 


THE  VISION  AND  THE  CREED  OF  PIERS 
PLOUGHMAN, 

WE  are  apt  to  declaim  against  the  corruptions  of  the  age  in 
which  we  live,  and  to  imagine  that  no  preceding  one  has  equal 
led  it  in  all  the  crimes  which  might  be  expected  to  call  down 
the  vengeance  of  Heaven  upon  nations  or  upon  individuals.  The 
follies  and  vices  of  our  own  time  are  magnified  to  us  by  the 
various  passions,  prejudices  and  prepossessions  which  help  to 
make  up  our  estimate  of  passing  events,  while  we  judge  of  those 
which  transpired  long  since,  with  the  coolness  of  abstraction  and 
the  charity  of  indifference. 

But  the  observation  of  the  witty  and  wicked  Lady  Mary, 
that  in  all  her  travels  she  had  met  but  two  kinds  of  people — 
men  and  women — might  serve  all  travellers  and  all  time.  Not 
only  in  great  affairs  can  we  trace  continual  recurrence  of  the 
same  causes  with  the  same  consequences,  but  the  very  tattle  of 
a  village  or  the  jealousies  of  a  household  have  had  their  proto 
type  thousands  of  years  ago.  Babies  cry  now-a-days  in  the 
very  same  tones  which  served  little  Cain  and  Abel  for  the 
expression  of  their  sorrows  ;  and  no  less  do  the  grown-up  Cains 
and  Abels  of  our  time  make  use  of  the  very  same  modes  of 


280  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

showing  their  different  characters,  that  we  find  so  strikingly 
described  in  the  most  ancient  of  all  histories. 

The  old-fashioned  notion  of  the  "dignity"  of  history  has 
given  rise  to  continual  efforts  to  hide  this  simplicity  or  sameness 
in  the  true  records  of  human  action.  It  has  been  thought 
necessary  to  dress  up  and  render  conspicuous  a  certain  class  of 
events,  while  another  class,  perhaps  far  more  efficient  in  produc 
ing  the  real  features  of  the  age,  are  unnoticed  and  forgotten. 
For  these  we  must  go  to  ancient  rhymes  and  homely  chronicles — 
compositions  called  forth  by  the  spirit  of  the  times,  and  not 
encumbered  with  any  character  or  "dignity"  to  support ;  and 
in  their  quaint  and  simple  pages  we  shall  find  truths  that  writers 
of  more  pretension  shun  to  tell,  or  perhaps  pass  over  as  unworthy 
of  notice. 

"The  Vision  and  the  Creed  of  Piers  Ploughman,"  is  one  of 
the  most  striking  of  these  pictures  of  the  times  ;  and  the  scarce 
black-letter  volume,  to  which  formerly  none  but  antiquaries  had 
access,  is  now  "  newly  imprinted,"  with  all  its  grotesque  and 
arabesque  decorations,  its  vermilion  letters,  its  frontispiece  of 
most  original  design  and  perspective — the  ploughman  holding 
the  handles,  and  his  faithful  spouse  bearing  the  goad  which  is  to 
urge  to  their  duty  a  pair  of  the  most  extraordinary  oxen — and, 
floating  over  all,  the  motto— 0fOt<  Spcett  ge  plOUflll  HTltl 
Sentt  US  feorite  flltOlfe,*  among  William  Pickering's  resus 
citations  of  the  treasures  of  the  olden  time.  To  those  who  love 
to  have  the  stately  and  somewhat  formal  march  of  history 
varied  by  an  occasional  quick-step,  we  recommend  a  perusal  of 
this  work,  of  which  we  will  here  offer  a  short  account. 
This  curious  poem  is  supposed  to  be  the  work  of  a  monk — 

*  God  speed  the  plough  and  send  us  corn  enough. 


VISION    AND    CREED    OF    PIERS   PLOUGHMAN.        281 

some  say  a  monk  of  Malvern,  Robert  Longlande  or  Langlande 
by  name,  one  of  the  many  who  quitted  their  monasteries  to 
advocate  the  cause  of  the  Reformation.  David  Buchanan, 
indeed,  claims  the  honor  for  a  canny  Scot,  but  this  is  considered 
rather  an  instance  of  patriotism  than  of  critical  acumen  in  the 
commentator.  The  year  1362  is  assigned  as  the  date  of 
the  performance.  At  this  time,  England,  in  common  with  the 
rest  of  Europe,  had  lately  been  the  theatre  of  dreadful  calami 
ties.  Twelve  years  before,  a  pestilence  had  swept  off  one  half 
the  population  ;  but  this  half  being  the  poor  and  ill  fed,  the 
higher  classes,  neglecting  a  warning  which  did  not  fall  directly 
upon  themselves,  became  more  cruel,  oppressive,  and  licentious 
than  before.  But  another  pestilence,  as  if  commissioned  to 
arouse  them  from  a  guilty  insensibility,  soon  after  desolated 
their  ranks,  spreading  mourning  and  terror  throughout  the 
haunts  of  splendid  vice,  and  leaving  the  homes  of  the  poor  com 
paratively  untouched.  Contemporaneously  with  this  plague 
came  a  tempest,  whose  sweeping  ruin  filled  all  hearts  alike  with 
trembling  and  dismay. 

At  this  awful  juncture,  when  the  public  conscience  was,  as  it 
were,  laid  bare  by  the  severity  of  Heaven,  the  satirist  chose  his 
time.  Some  Latin  poems  attributed  to  Walter  Mapes,  and  a 
collection  of  political  songs,  containing,  in  small  compass,  all  the 
chief  points  of  accusation  against  the  different  orders  of  society, 
preceded  the  Vision  of  Piers  Ploughman.  Those  who  consider 
songs  and  poems  as  too  trivial  to  be  mentioned  among  the  great 
events  of  such  a  period,  must  remember  that  one  who  had 
enjoyed  unusual  opportunities  for  studying  the  moving  causes  of 
human  events,  said  that  if  he  could  have  the  making  of  the  bal 
lads  of  a  nation,  he  would  care  little  who  made  its  laws. 


282  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

And  even  in  our  own  unpoetic  time  we  have  ample  evidence  that 
the  fictions  of  Dickens,  the  "  Rhymes,"  of  Elliott  and  the  songs 
of  Thomas  Hood,  have  told,  with  marked  and  most  important  em 
phasis,  upon  the  feelings  and  sentiments  of  whole  nations.  Still 
more  potent  must  such  things  have  been  when  literature  was 
anything  but  a  drug  and  a  bye-word  ;  and  we  think  those  err 
little  who  look  upon  the  satires  of  the  fourteenth  century  as  mo 
mentous  features  in  the  aspect  of  the  time. 

The  "  Roman  de,  la  Rose"  had  brought  into  vogue  a  new  spe 
cies  of  composition,  and  it  seems  to  have  afforded  a  model  for 
the  style  of  our  author,  conveying  instruction  under  the  veil  of 
allegory.  This  circumstance,  may,  perhaps,  be  thought  to  detract 
somewhat  from  its  merit  in  a  critical  point  of  view ;  but  practically 
it  is  really  rather  an  advantage  than  a  blemish ;  since  the  natural 
tediousness  of  allegorical  writing  is  much  relieved  by  an  occasional 
forgetfulness  on  the  part  of  the  author,  which  seems  to  excuse 
the  reader  from  the  close  attention  required  by  a  long  two- 
threaded  story. 

The  Vision  comes  to  one  who,  weary  of  the  world,  falls  asleep 
beside  a  stream,  amid  the  soft  and  beautiful  scenery  of  the  Mal- 
vern  Hills.  He  sees  a  vast  multitude  assembled  in  a  fair  mead 
ow,  typifying  the  whole  world  of  mankind  ;  attracted  on  one 
side  by  the  Tower  of  Truth,  the  right  aim  of  man's  pilgrimage, 
and  on  the  other  by  the  "  Dungeon  of  Care,"  the  dwelling-place 
of  wrong — more  attractive  in  real  life  than  in  this  poetical  pic 
ture  : 

A  dongeon  thereinne 
With  depe  diches  and  derke 
And  dredfulle  of  sight. 


VISION    AND    CREED    OF   PIERS    PLOUGHMAN.        283 

We  cannot  follow  out  the  impracticable  intricacies  of  the 
story  ;  "the  fair  ladye  of  leere,""the  personification  of  holy 
church,  who  offers  to  instruct  the  dreamer  ;  the  lady  Mede, 
(earthly  reward,)  who  attracts  those  whose  mind  is  not  firmly 
fixed  upon  better  things  to  come  ;  Cyvile,  or  Law,  potent  yet 
slighted  ;  Conscience,  who  is  proposed  as  a  husband  for  lady 
Mede,  but  declines  the  union  ;  Repentance  and  Hope,  who  per 
suade  the  multitude  to  set  out  on  a  pilgrimage  in  search  of 
Truth  ;  Kyude,  or  Nature  ;  Do-well,  Do-better,  and  Do-best, 
very  important  personages,  figure  with  a  multitude  of  others 
whose  characters  and  offices  are  too  complicated  for  analysis 
within  reasonable  bounds.  The  conclusion  of  this  thronging 
march  is  rather  unsatisfactory,  being  one  of  those  "wherein 
nothing  is  concluded,"  but  the  writer  seems  to  have  designed  to 
paint  human  life  as  it  is  ;  in  which  case  to  have  depicted  a  gen 
eral  amelioration  of  mankind  as  the  result  of  any  efforts  or  cir 
cumstances,  would  have  been  as  incorrect  as  the  invariable  prac 
tice  of  the  novelists  of  our  time,  who  reward  virtue  with  worldly 
prosperity,  in  the  very  face  of  the  daily  dispensations  of  Provi 
dence. 

The  language  of  the  Vision  is  such  as  few  can  read  without  a 
glossary,  but  this  requisite  is  found  at  the  conclusion  of  the  vol 
umes.  Here  is  a  specimen  of  the  very  simplest : 

"  No,  quod  Pacience  paclently, 
And  out  of  his  poke  hente 
Yitailles  of  grete  virtues 
For  alle  manere  beestes, 
And  seide,  "  Lo  here,  liflode  y-noghe! 
If  our  bileve  be  trewe. 
For  lent  nevere  was  lilj 
But  liflode  wore  shapen, 


284  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

Wher-of  or  wher-for 
Or  wher-by  to  libbe.'1 

The  last  quatrain  is  for  encouragement — assuring  the  hungry 
that  wherever  there  is  life,  there  also  "  liflode"  or  livelihood  is 
provided.  Unfortunately,  the  hungry  man  may  reply,  as  we  are 
told  one  did  since  Piers  Ploughman's  day  : 

"  Yes,  your  reverence  ;  but  Providence  sent  the  baby  to  my 
house,  and  the  victuals  to  yours!" 

The  work  abounds  with  a  sort  of  quaint  wisdom,  homely,  but 
genial  ;  expressed  in  a  style  half  axiomatic,  half  mystical.  The 
whole  tenor  is  as  purely  democratical  as  if  it  had  seen  the  light 
only  since  the  French  Revolution.  Indeed  Piers  has  been 
called  the  sans-culotte  of  the  fourteenth  century. 

The  poem  is  considered  a  parfect  specimen  of  the  English 
tongue  before  grammar  was  a  science,  and  the  study  of  it  is 
recommended  as  tending  to  elucidate  many  of  the  real  difficul 
ties  of  the  language.  It  is  a  fine  example  of  that  style  of  versi 
fication  which  was  the  only  one  in  use  among  the  Anglo-Sax 
ons  in  the  early  times  of  their  literature.  Rhyming  verse  had 
not  yet  been  introduced  into  England.  The  characteristic  of 
the  only  versification  attempted  at  the  period,  was  a  kind  of 
alliteration,  so  arranged  that  in  every  couplet  there  should  be 
two  principal  words  in  the  first  line  beginning  with  the  same  let 
ter,  which  letter  must  also  be  the  initial  of  the  first  word  on 
which  the  stress  of  the  voice  falls  in  the  second  line.  This  kind 
of  poetry  is  mingled,  after  the  thirteenth  century,  with  rhyme  ; 
but  in  an  irregular  manner  ;  and  purely  alliterative  poetry  was 
still  in  use  among  the  lower  orders  when  Piers  Ploughman  was 
written.  The  adoption  of  it  in  satire  seems  to  have  a  political 
meaning,  as  referring  the  grave  matters  in  question  directly  to 


VISION   AND    CREED  OF    PIERS    PLOUGHMAN         285 

the  judgment  of  the  common  people.  The  simple,  nncorrupted 
heart  of  the  Ploughman  is  represented  as  the  dwelling-place  of 
virtue  and  truth  ;  while  the  great,  with  their  insolent  retainers, 
appear  as  practicing  every  species  of  injustice  and  oppression, 
the  merchants  every  extreme  of  dishonesty,  and  even  the 
clergy  the  ruinous  vices  of  extortion,  intemperance  and  license, 
not  to  speak  of  a  total  disregard  of  the  duties  of  the  sacred 
office.  And  it  was  appropriate  to  clothe  this  unsparing  view  of 
the  state  of  the  country  in  the  poetry  which  was  alone  familiar 
to  that  class  of  readers,  who  were  held  up  in  it  as  the  represent 
atives  and  guardians  of  all  that  was  left  of  virtue  and  religion. 
In  this  point  of  view  the  poem  possesses  much  interest  as  a  doc 
ument  of  literary  history,  connected  directly  with  the  time  at 
which  it  appeared. 

An  attempt  to  modernize  or  rather  to  translate  Piers  Plough 
man,  was  made,  early  in  the  present  century.  Here  is  a 
specimen,  followed  by  the  original : 

Next  Avarice  came ;  but  how  he  look  'd  to  eay 
"Words  I  do  want  that  rightly  shall  portray ; 
Like  leathern  puise  his  shrivell'd  cheeks  did  show, 
Thick-lipp  'd,  with  two  bl»ar  'd  eyes  and  beetle  brow ; 
In  a  torn  thread-bare  tabard  was  he  clad, 
"Which  twelve  whole  winters  now  in  wear  he  had. 

ORIGINAL. 

"  And  than  came  Coveitise 
Kan  I  hym  nanght  discryve; 
So  hungrily  and  holwe 
Biro  Hervy  hym  Inked. 
lie  was  bitel-browed 
And  blflber-lipped  also, 


286  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

With  two  blered  eighen 
As  a  blynd  hagge  ; 
And  as  a  lethern  purs 
Lolled  hise  chekes 
"Wei  sidder  than  his  chynne 
Thei  chyveld  for  elde 
And  in  a  tawny  tabard 
Of  twelve  winter  age,"  &e. 

The  "  newly  imprinted  "  edition  of  William  Pickerell,  whose 
emblematic  device,  after  the  true  antique  fashion,  figures  on  the 
title-page  in  a  circle  made  up  of  (JtttlftltttttS  and  a  greedy- 
looking  pike  or  pickerel — is  taken  from  a  fine  folio  manuscript 
on  vellum,  written  in  a  large  hand,  undoubtedly  contemporary 
with  the  author  of  the  poem,  and  in  remarkably  pure  English, 
with  ornamented  initial  letters.  The  manuscript  belongs  to 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 

It  is  in  this  "Vision,"  that  the  celebrated  prophecy  occurs, 
which  mentions  a  king  who  shall  extirpate  monasteries,  and 
scatter  monks  and  nuns  to  the  four  winds. 

"  Ac  ther  shal  come  a  kyng 
And  confess  yow  religionses 
And  bete  yow  as  the  Bible  telleth 
For  brekynge  of  youre  rule ; 
And  amende  monyals* 
Monkes  and  chanons 
And  puter  to  her  penannce 
Ad  pristinum  statum  Ire, 
And  barons  with  cries  beten  hem 
Through  Beatus-virres  techynge 
That  hir  barnes  t  dayman  J 
And  blame  yow  foulo. 


*  Monyals — nans.       t    Barnes — children.        J  To  claim. 


VISION   AND    CREED    OF    PIERS    PLOUGHMAN.        281 

And  thanne  freres  In  hir  fraytor  * 

Shul  fynden  a  keye 

Of  Oostantyn's  cofres 

In  which  is  the  catel 

That  Grcgorie's  god  children 

Han  y vele  t   despended. 

And  tbaune  shall  the  Abbot  of  Abyngdone 

And  all  his  issue  forevcre 

Have  a  knock  of  a  kynge 

And  incurable  the  wounde. 

That  this  worthe  soothe  seek  ye 

That  oft  over-se  the  Bible,"  &c,  Ac. 

This  prophecy  is  certainly  remarkable,  yet  we  can  scarcely 
consider  it  miraculous,  since  the  excesses  into  which  the  religious 
houses  had  fallen  were  such  as  to  render  it  very  likely  that  some 
monarch,  either  virtuous  or  passionate,  would  make  sweeping 
work  with  them  at  no  very  distant  date.  If  the  sufferings  of 
the  lower  orders,  the  vices  of  the  great,  and  the  excesses  of  the 
clergy  were  what  the  Vision  describes  them  to  have  been,  we 
may  marvel  that  the  Ploughman  did  not  foretell  a  shower  of  fire 
which  should  purify  the  entire  realm  as  well  as  the  monasteries, 
since  professed  moralists  are  generally  not  backward  in  prophe- 
cying,  and  even  invoking,  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  npon  other 
people's  sins. 

As  to  the  prophetic  part,  Philippe  de  Comines,  as  far  back  as 
Edward  lYth's  time,  says  the  English  were  never  without  some 
prophecy  or  other  to  account  for  whatever  events  might  occur. 
These  predictions,  from  the  oracular  form  in  which  they  were 
delivered,  had  at  least  half  the  chances  in  their  favor — as 
witness  that  which  threatened  evil  to  Edward  IVth — saying 

*  Fraytor— refectory.  t  Yvele— eviL 


288  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

that  one  whose  name  began  with  G,  should  succeed  him  ;  a 
prophecy  which  cost  the  life  of  George,  Duke  of  Clarence,  but 
which  was  considered  equally  well  fulfilled  by  the  usurpation  of 
Gloster. 


A  LEGEND  OF  EAST  ROCK, 

IT  is  many  years  since  an  individual  of  singular  appearance 
took  up  his  abode  in  the  vicinity  of  a  populous  town — an  unu 
sual  choice  of  place  for  one  whom  misfortune  or  misanthropy 
seemed  to  have  rendered  averse  to  human  society,  but  not 
an  injudicious  one  in  this  case,  since  the  spot  afforded  the  soli 
tude  of  the  desert  without  its  remoteness  from  succor. 

His  humble  dwelling,  constructed  with  little  skill  or  care,  a»d 
scarcely  discernible  in  the  tangled  thicket,  was  situated  upon 
a  rough  hill  that  rose  with  picturesque  abruptness  from  the  level 
plain  ;  toward  the  town  rocky  and  precipitous,  but  descending 
on  the  opposite  side  with  a  softer  outline.  The  gray  rock  was 
in  some  places  naked  to  the  sun  ;  in  others,  covered  with  soil 
for  the  most  part  closely  wooded.  One  spot,  in  the  very  midst 
of  the  deep  shade,  was  susceptible  of  cultivation.  It  was  but  a 
strip,  but  it  repaid  the  rude  culture  of  the  recluse  with  food 
sufficient  for  him,  and  served  also  to  pasture  two  or  three  sheep 
— not  doomed  to  bleed  for  their  master's  gratification,  but  to  be 
harnessed  with  strips  of  bark  to  a  little  cart,  which  served 
him  many  useful  purposes  during  the  Summer,  and  when  Autumn 
blasts  began  to  lay  bare  the  branches,  bore  his  few  movables 
toward  the  pleasant  south.  No  one  knew  where  he  made 
his  winter  abode  ;  but  the  flitting  was  regular  as  that  of  the 
19 


290  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

birds,  and  when  they  and  the  flowers  returned,  back  came  our 
hermit  to  his  hovel  on  the  rock. 

When  we  first  heard  of  his  existence,  he  was  seldom  disturbed 
or  intruded  upon.  Curiosity  had  subsided,  and  the  determined 
silence  of  the  recluse  was  not  calculated  to  induce  a  chance  vis 
itor  to  repeat  his  visit.  Strangers  were  sometimes  taken  to  the 
hermitage,  but  to  those  who  had  associated  the  flowing  beard, 
staff,  cross  and  rosary  with  the  idea  of  a  hermit,  our  recluse 
seemed  but  a  poor  representation  of  the  class.  He  was  a 
coarse,  rough-looking  person,  clothed  in  a  sort  of  Robinson  Cru 
soe  style  ;  and  his  whole  air  was  one  which  the  most  romantic 
imagination  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  invest  with  the 
character  of  saintly  repose  which  always  marks  the  hernm 
of  story.  A  student  would  sometimes  terminate  his  ramble  by 
a  short  rest  in  the  bough-roofed  hovel,  or  a  schoolboy  spend  his 
Saturday  afternoon  in  its  neighborhood,  for  the  sake  of  sharing 
the  contents  of  his  basket  with  the  lonely  tenant  ;  and  in  such 
cases  the  reception  offered  by  the  recluse  was  quiet  but  kind, 
and  the  offered  dainties  usually  repaid  by  the  gift  of  some 
of  nature's  treasures,  which  an  out-door  life  enabled  him 
to  procure.  He  would  heat  his  rude  oven,  and  bake  apples 
and  potatoes  for  his  guests,  while  they  gathered  berries  or  ram 
bled  through  the  craggy  solitudes.  But  he  scarcely  ever  spoke, 
and  most  of  his  days  were  passed  in  absolute  solitude. 

The  accounts  I  had  heard  aroused  no  little  interest  or  curios 
ity  respecting  this  strange  being,  when  I  was  one  day  informed 
that  the  hermit  was  in  the  kitchen,  and  had  as"ked  leave  to  take 
— not  exactly  "  the  husks  that  the  swine  did  eat" — but  a  piece 
of  white  bread  which  had  been  consigned  to  that  base  use  by 
an  unthrifty  maid,  and  which  had  caught  his  eye  as  he  passed 


A  LEGEND  OF  EAST  ROCK.          291 

her  territory,  driven  from  his  wretched  home  by  the  pangs 
of  hunger.  I  had  heard  that  he  sometimes  asked  alms  in 
the  kitchens  of  his  young  visitors,  when  from  want  of  foresight 
he  found  himself  without  provisions  ;  I  was,  therefore,  not 
surprised  when  I  heard  of  his  coming.  Quite  curious,  however, 
I  followed  my  informant  immediately,  and  found  a  tall,  meagre 
figure,  clad  in  a  sort  of  wrapper  of  the  coarsest  kind  of  blanket 
ing,  confined  at  the  waist  with  a  piece  of  rope.  His  hair 
was  "  sable-silvered,"  and  seemed  utterly  unconscious  of  comb  or 
scissors  ;  and  his  beard  not  "  descending"  but  full  and  bushy, 
concealed  completely  the  mouth  and  chin,  to  which  I  usually 
look  for  the  expression  of  character.  So  much  of  his  face 
as  could  be  seen  showed  little  trace  of  refined  sensibility.  His 
eye  was  cold  and  stern,  and  one  found  it  difficult  to  believe 
it  had  ever  been  otherwise  ;  yet  I  fancied — who  could  forbear 
fancying  something,  of  an  individual  so  singular  in  his  appear 
ance  and  habits  ! — that  the  deep  furrows  of  his  brow  were  not 
the  gradual  work  of  time,  but  the  more  severe  scoopings 
of  remorse  or  regret,  and  that  they  spoke  of  pangs  such 
as  only  the  strong  mind  can  suffer. 

My  gaze  offended  or  disconcerted  him,  for  he  stepped  without 
the  door,  so  as  to  screen  himself  from  further  scrutiny.  I 
hastened  to  repair  the  involuntary  fault  by  addressing  him 
courteously,  and  inviting  him  to  come  in.  He  neither  spoke 
nor  raised  his  eyes  from  the  ground  ;  so,  directing  apart  that 
food  should  be  set  before  him,  I  left  him  to  dispose  of 
it  at  his  pleasure,  for  it  was  evident  that  he  was  painfully  shy, 
and  that  my  presence  was  both  unexpected  and  unwelcome. 

I  heard  of  him  occasionally  through  the  Summer,  but 
nothing  of  novelty  or  interest  until  the  hoarse  voice  of  Autumn 


292  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

was  heard  on  the  hill,  and  the  strides  of  approaching  Winter 
rustled  among  the  dry  leaves  of  the  forest,  when  it  was  ascer 
tained  that  the  recluse  still  occupied  h's  airy  summer  bower, 
being  too  unwell  to  commence  his  usual  migration.  Preparing 
a  few  of  the  little  comforts  of  the  sick  room,  I  accompanied  h!s 
young  friends  to  the  rock,  in  hopes  of  d'scovering  the  nature  of 
his  illness  and  be'ng  able  to  contribute  to  its  cure. 

Forlorn  and  desolate  indeed  was  the  situation  of  the  poor 
solitary.  He  had  been  unable  to  gather  in  the  produce  of  his 
little  plantation,  and  the  corn  was  yet  on  the  stalk,  and  the 
potatoes  in  the  ground.  The  trees,  stripped  of  their  covering, 
110  longer  afforded  shelter  to  the  m.serable  hovel,  and  the  her 
mit  lav  exposed  to  the  chilling  wind,  warmed  only  by  the  poor 
sheep  which  huddled  round  him,  having  followed  him  to  his 
retreat  for  protection  from  the  blast,  or  for  the  food  which  the 
bare  and  frozen  banks  now  denied  them. 

He  received  thankfully  the  provisions  we  offered,  but  re 
sisted  every  proposal  for  removing  him  to  a  more  comfortable 
asylum,  or  even  for  improving  the  miserable  pallet  on  which  he 
lay.  He  showed  no  symptoms  of  any  particular  disease,  but  a 
general  decline  of  the  powers  of  life.  His  appearance  was 
much  altered,  and  his  face  of  a  transparent  paleness  ;  but  this 
might  well  have  been  occasioned  by  the  want  of  such  food  as 
his  feeble  appetite  required.  He  felt  quite  sure  he  should 
be  better  now,  and  said  he  had  lain  in  bed  only  to  keep  himself 
warm.  Finding  him  resolute  in  rejecting  farther  aid,  the  young 
people  gathered  a  supply  of  fuel,  and  filled  his  kettle  and  hung 
it  over  a  good  fire,  and  arranged  the  few  comforts  we  had 
brought  on  a  rude  shelf  by  the  bedside,  and  we  left  him 
to  himself,  feeling  that  however  grateful  he  might  be  for 


A    LEGEND    OF  EAST  ROCK.  293 

intended    kindness,    human    society   was   evidently   distasteful 
to  him. 

It  was  evident  to  us  all  that  he  was  much  softened  since 
his  illness.  He  no  longer  maintained  an  obstinate  silence,  nor 
when  he  spoke  was  it  with  that  deep  hoarse  voice  which  had 
been  remarkable  before.  There  was  more  of  refinement  in  his 
language,  and  of  intelligence  in  his  eye  ;  and  I  could  not  help 
thinking  that  the  roughness  I  had  noticed  had  been  artificial — 
assumed  only  to  suit  the  character  he  had  adopted.  Our  young 
people  now  visited  him  more  frequently,  and  others,  hearing  of 
his  indisposition,  offered  more  comforts  than  he  would  consent 
to  receive  ;  but  he  declined  gradually,  so  gradually,  indeed, 
that  those  who  saw  him  often  were  scarce  aware  of  the  change, 
until  one  morn'ng  he  was  found  dead  in  his  bed.*  No  clue  to 
his  name  or  kindred  was  found  among  his  poor  effects  ;  but  he 
had  consigned  to  one  favored  individual  a  memoir  of  his  life,  or 
at  least  of  that  portion  of  it  which  had  been  passed  among  men. 
Other  papers  there  were — the  outpourings  of  a  vehement  spirit 
— of  a  rebellious  and  untamed  heart,  which  had  dared  to  sit  in 
judgment  on  the  decrees  of  the  Most  High,  and  to  draw  from 
the  various  calamities  of  life  bold  and  blasphemous  conclusions 
against  the  justice  and  goodness  of  Providence.  These  were 
of  course  committed  to  the  flames  ;  but  the  short  record  of  Irs 
own  disastrous  career,  written  apparently  in  a  different  spirit, 
and  after  he  had  ceased  to  "  contend  against  God,"  is  here 
given,  not  without  a  hope  that  useful  lessons  may  be  derived 
from  the  errors  of  a  proud  and  self-deifying  heart. 

*  Those  of  our  readers  who  were  acquainted  with  New  Haven  thirty-five  years  ago  will 
recognize  in  this  sketch  an  attempt  to  describe  the  person  known  as  •'  The  Hermit  of  East 
Hock."  We  must  be  pardoned  for  imagininghis  antecedents. 


294  AUTUMN  HOURS. 


THE  HERMIT'S  STORY, 

My  father  was  a  substantial  farmer.  By  unremitting  industry 
in  early  life  he  had  amassed  a  few  hundreds,  and  these  had 
become  thousands  by  prudent  management  and  rigid  economy  ; 
so  that  from  my  earliest  recollection  he  was  at  ease  as  to  worldly 
possessions.  His  own  career  having  been  thus  prosperous, 
he  naturally  desired  that  his  only  son  should  follow  in  his 
footsteps,  and  with  his  noble  farm  inherit  his  fondness  for 
agricultural  pursuits.  Though  deficient  in  education  himself,  he 
allowed  me  its  advantages,  and  I  was  many  years  at  school, 
with  only  the  occasional  interruption  of  a  summons  home  when 
haying  or  harvesting  required  the  entire  force  of  the  household. 
At  such  times  my  father  spoke  often  to  me  of  his  wish  that 
I  should  be  prepared  to  relieve  him  from  the  cares  which 
his  years  began  to  render  irksome  ;  of  my  own  good  fortune  in 
being  the  inheritor  of  such  a  farm,  and  of  his  in  having  a 
son  capable  of  carrying  out  his  plans  of  further  improvement — 
but  I  was  fated  to  disappoint  him.  Fated,  did  I  say  !  Let  me 
rather  own  that  at  school  I  imbibed  a  love  of  letters,  but  not  a 
sense  of  duty  ;  a  high  opinion  of  my  own  powers,  and  a  secret 
conviction  that  those  powers  would  be  wasted  in  the  inglorious 
occupation  of  tilling  the  ground.  My  thirst  for  knowledge 
referred  only  to  mental  gratification  ;  and  I  pursued  my  studies 
with  an  ardor  of  which  those  who  have  always  had  ready  access 
to  the  treasures  of  literature  can  have  but  little  conception. 
At  home  I  scarce  saw  a  book,  beyond  the  Bible  and  a  few  ele 
mentary  works  ;  and  when  at  college  my  eyes  first  opened  upon 


THE   HERMIT'S   STORY.  295 

the  stores  of  ages,  I  became  absolutely  intoxicated  with  delight, 
and  rioted  indiscriminately  in  whatever  seemed  for  the  moment 
most  desirable  to  my  excited  fancy.  The  result  of  this  kind  of 
reading  was  anything  but  advantageous.  Mental  dissipation  is 
scarcely  less  injurious  to  the  moral  sense  than  is  its  ruinous 
brother,  vice.  The  generous  and  self-denying  virtues  are  almost 
as  incompatible  with  the  one  as  with  the  other.  Under  the  influ 
ence  of  my  new-found  pleasure,  it  cost  me  not  a  pang  to  disap 
point  the  long-cherished  hopes  of  my  father,  and  it  was  with  a 
secret  swell  of  conscious  superiority  that  I  announced  to  him  my 
resolution  never  to  be  a  farmer. 

His  anger  and  his  astonishment  knew  no  bounds.  He  bit 
terly  lamented  his  folly  in  having  sent  me  to  college,  "  although," 
as  he  observed,  "  there  was  nothing  in  the  nature  of  learning  to 
make  a  fool  of  a  boy."  This  was  very  true,  yet  the  small  and 
ill-chosen  and  worse  digested  amount  of  it  which  I  had  imbibed, 
had  only  filled  my  head  with  vanity,  and  my  heart  with  unduti- 
ful  thoughts.  The  entreaties  of  my  mother  and  sister  delayed 
the  catastrophe  for  awhile.  My  father  consented  to  try  me  at 
business,  and  I  condescended  to  be  tried  ;  but  nothing  but 
disaster  ensued.  When  not  willfully  careless,  I  was  ruinously 
absent-minded,  and  it  was  not  until  I  had  killed  half  the  cows, 
by  letting  them  spend  the  night  in  a  field  of  clover,  and  spiked 
the  best  horse  on  the  tongue  of  a  stage-coach,  while  I  lay  read 
ing  Thomson's  Summer  on  the  top  of  a  load  of  hay,  that  my 
poor  father  gave  it  up  in  despair.  He  gave  me  a  small  amount 
of  money,  a  horse,  and  a  supply  of  clothing,  and  then,  with 
anger  in  his  eye  and  grief  and  mortification  in  his  heart,  sent  me 
to  seek  my  fortune  where  I  could  find  a  situation  more  congenial 
to  my  taste. 


296  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

In  spite  of  my  headstrong  folly,  I  could  not  but  feel  a  little 
misgiving  as  I  turned  my  back  on  my  home  and  on  the  kindest 
of  mothers,  and  prepared  to  try  the  wide  world  for  a  subsistence. 
The  "  still  small  voice"  that  upbraided  me  with  the  sorrow  of 
my  parents,  I  strove  to  silence  by  a  determination  to  return  to 
them,  when  I  should  have  earned  a  name  and  a  fame  that  should 
cover  the  waywardness  of  my  youth,  and  crown  their  latter 
days  with  pride  and  joy.  As  a  stepping-stone  to  fortune,  how 
ever,  it  was  necessary  that  I  should  immediately  determine 
upon  some  mode  of  earning  a  regular  subsistence,  and  my  pas- 
sioa  for  books,  not  to  say  my  incapacity  for  anything  else, 
pointed  at  once  to  the  situation  of  a  teacher.  I  had  no  dread 
of  this  occupation.  I  ascribed  the  various  satirical  descriptions 
of  its  horrors  to  the  incapacity  of  those  who  had  attempted  it. 
To  a  teacher  qualified  as  I  felt  myself  to  be,  I  was  confident  the 
whole  favored  district  would  throng  ;  and  I  anticipated  with 
'delight  the  astonishment  of  the  natives,  when  they  should 
discover  the  attainments  of  their  schoolmaster. 

The  first  difficulty  that  occurred  when  I  sought  this  delight 
ful  employment  was  the  lack  of  proper  testimonials.  It  had  not 
entered  my  miud  that  a  person  of  my  appearance  and  acquire 
ments  would  need  credentials  among  ignorant  rustics  ;  buu 
I  found,  with  no  little  disgust,  that  I  was  required  to  go 
through  with  the  whole  formula  of  recoinnieiidatous  and  certifi 
cates,  and  prove  my  title  to  the  honor  of  teaching  a  district 
school  by  as  many  papers  as  would  have  served  to  accredit 
a  minister  plenipotentiary.  A  long  interval  occurred  bei'oie 
certificates  could  arrive  from  my  Alma  Mater,  and  by  the  time 
I  had  been  examined  and  entered  upon  my  new  duties,  an 
acquaintance  with  my  patrons  and  their  ch.ldreii  had  served  to 


THE  HERMIT'S   STORY.  291 

damp  my  ardor  considerably.  I  dropped,  by  degrees,  the  hopes 
of  making  orators  and  statesmen  out  of  the  materials  committed 
to  my  care  ;  and  contented  myself  with  the  more  modest  hope 
of  eradicating  some  of  the  bad  habits  and  ignorant  conceits  of 
my  pupils — a  sad  and  discouraging  task.  To  write  upon  blank 
paper  is  easy,  but  when  the  surface  has  already  been  scribbled 
over,  who  can  expect  to  produce  fair  and  graceful  lines  ? 

Most  of  my  scholars  were  the  sons  of  farmers,  who  had 
no  idea  that  the  whole  of  a  child's  time  ought  to  be  given  to  the 
school.  Many  omissions  occurred,  and  those  who  did  attend 
regularly  came  to  the  writing-desk  or  the  reading  class  with 
hands  hardened  by  labor,  or  heads  preoccupied  by  more  conge 
nial  ideas.  These  difficulties,  however,  lessened  in  no  degree 
the  expectations  of  the  parents. 

"  I  expect,"  said  one  sturdy  father  to  me,  "  that  now  we've 
got  sich  a  high-larnt  master,  my  boy '11  write  like  copperplate 
afore  the  quarter's  out  ;"  and  another,  whose  son  spent  a  full 
month  in  committing  the  multiplication  table,  told  me,  he  hardly 
knew  how  to  spare  him  for  three  months,  but  he  wanted  he 
should  "larn  surveying." 

The  proportion  of  reasonable  parents  and  capable  childreu 
was  lamentably  small  ;  but  all  this  I  could  have  borne  if  I 
had  found  what  I  expected — abundant  leisure  for  reading. 
But  alas  !  the  mornings  and  evenings,  which  were  to  have  con 
soled  me  for  the  most  laborious  drudgery,  were  not  at  my  com 
mand.  That  odious  "  boarding  round  " — a  custom  which  ought 
to  be  abolished  by  statute — gave  me  every  week  a  new  home, 
if  such  sojourn  may  bear  the  sacred  name  of  home  ;  and  every 
home  seemed  more  uncomfortable  than  the  last.  One  single 
fire  for  the  household,  during  all  the  morning  business,  made 


298  AUTUMN  HOURS. 

reading  impossible  in  winter  weather  ;  and  in  the  evenings, 
when,  children  and  business  being  out  of  the  way,  1  might  have 
had  a  chance  by  the  fireside,  I  found  myself  so  fagged  by  the 
labors  of  the  day,  that  even  books  had  no  charm  which  could 
sustain  my  drooping  eyelids.  The  comfortable  and  well  ordered 
home  I  had  left  often  rose  sweet  and  tempting  upon  my  weary 
soul ;  but  pride  forbade  me  to  confess  iny  error  and  seek  again 
its  sheltering  roof.  I  knew  my  father  would  be  ready  to  receive 
me  at  a  word  ;  but  that  word  I  determined  never  to  speak. 

To  a  temperament  such  as  mine,  the  trials  at  which  I  have 
but  hinted  were  unreasonably  severe.  Better  regulated  minds 
would  have  found  them  much  more  tolerable  ;  to  me  they  were 
irons  entering  the  soul,  and  I  felt  often  tempted  to  fly  from 
them,  as  I  had  done  from  other  and  far  less  evils  that  had 
thwarted  my  bent  at  home.  I  did,  however,  exercise  sufficient 
self-command  to  fulfil  my  agreement  ;  but  no  entreaties  could 
induce  me  to  engage  with  the  same  set  for  another  season  ;  and 
with  the  pittance  which  my  winter  of  torment  had  earned,  I 
set  forward  again,  hoping  to  find  some  nook  of  earth  where  the 
abilities  which  I  still  valued,  though  at  a  more  reasonable  rate, 
might  procure  me  a  livelihood  while  I  was  deciding  on  a  per 
manent  plan  of  life. 

I  came  just  at  evening  upon  a  lovely  spot — a  village  lying  on 
a  small  but  rapid  stream  which  flowed  through  a  highly  culti 
vated  valley.  There  was  a  mill  with  its  busy,  pleasant  hum  ;  a 
smith's  shop  round  which  the  usual  number  of  idlers  were  col 
lected  ;  a  neat  tavern  where  there  were  no  idlers  at  all  ;  one 
pretty  street  through  which,  at  this  sunset  hour,  many  fair 
forms  were  flitting  ;  and,  on  the  brow  of  a  hill  which  overlooked 
the  whole,  a  church  on  whose  taper  spire  the  last  rays  of  the 


THE   HERMIT'S   STORY.  299 

sun  seemed  to  linger  with  affectionate  delay.  I  gazed  with  de 
light,  and,  still  as  sanguine  as  ever,  decided  that  this  favored 
spot  should  be  my  home  for  the  present.  A  school'  here, 
I  thought,  could  not  be  Kke  other  schools — and,  as  far  as  my 
own  experience  went,  I  was  for  once  right. 

There  was  no  lack  of  testimonials  this  time,  and  I  soon  found 
myself  established  in  a  select  school,  which  promised  better  sup 
port  and  more  leisure  than  I  had  enjoyed  in  my  former  situ 
ation.  I  entered  upon  my  new  duties  with  interest,  but  had 
already  begun  to  discover  that  all  schools  in  the  country  are 
alike  in  some  particulars,  when  an  incident  occurred  which 
changed  at  once  the  bent  of  my  repining  thoughts,  and  the 
whole  color  of  my  life. 

Margaret  ,  a  beautiful  girl  whose  health  had  from 

childhood  been  so  delicate  as  to  prevent  her  from  attending 
school  regularly,  was  now,  in  her  seventeenth  year,  placed  un 
der  my  charge.  Her  father,  the  rich  man  of  the  neighborhood, 
was  anxious  that  Margaret  should  employ  an  interval  of 
improved  strength  in  repairing,  as  far  as  possible,  the  deficien 
cies  of  her  early  training,  and  he  requested  extra  attention  on 
my  part,  in  the  shape  of  private  lessons,  which  brought  me 
every  evening  to  his  house. 

My  imagination  had  often  dwelt  on  the  lovely  beings  who  rise 
under  the  creative  wand  of  the  poet,  and  I  had  sighed  to  think 
that  only  in  books  may  we  hope  to  meet  these  shapes 
of  beauty,  lit  from  within  by  souls  yet  more  divine ;  but 

in  Margaret d'd  my  charmed  eyes  discover  more  than 

poet  ever  painted.  The  softest  beauty — a  clear  and  most 
ingenuous  mind — and  a  gentleness  which  can  never  be  feigned — 
all  the  qualities  which  I  should  have  chosen  if  I  had  been 


300  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

endowed,  Pygmalion-like,  with  the  power  of  giving  life  to  the 
dreams  of  fancy,  were  united  in  this  fair  creature.  There 
lacked  only  that  knowledge  which  it  was  to  be  my  blissful  task 
to  impart,  and  which  her  young  enthusiasm  drank  in  as  does 
the  thirsty  earth  the  long  delayed  shower.  How  I  rejoiced 
that  her  mind  had  been  no  further  cultivated  !  I  would  not 
that  any  other  breath  should  aid  the  expansion  of  this  tender 
flower.  And  none  other  did  :  it  was  mine  to  watch  its  unfold 
ing,  and  imbibe  its  fragrance  ;  mine  to  wear  it  in  my  heart  of 
hearts.  Lessons  which  books  do  not  furnish  passed  between 
the  master  and  the  pupil.  Margaret  accepted  my  offered 
heart,  and  as  frankly  gave  her  own  in  exchange  ;  and  in  less 
than  two  years  from  the  time  when  I  first  saw  her  she  became 
the  dearer  part  of  myself. 

Is  not  this  a  trick  of  the  imagination  ?  Have  I — the  outcast 
of  society — the  disowned  of  Heaven — the  companion  only  of  the 
beasts  that  perish— have  /  ever  been  the  beloved  of  Margaret 
— the  pride  of  our  parents — the  approved  and  applauded  of  all 
within  our  little  circle  ?  Ts  this  cold  and  almost  pulseless  heart 
the  same  which  once  swelled  with  triumph  as  I  gazed  on  my 
wife's  sweet  face,  and  fed  my  pride  with  the  thought  that  if  I 
had  tamely  yielded  to  the  inglorious  lot  marked  out  by  my  father, 
I  should  never  have  found  this — the  world's  best  treasure  ? 
Alas  !  what  darkness  would  have  veiled  that  joyous  scene  if 
Fate  had  foreshown,  in  the  place  of  the  happy  bridegroom,  the 
squalid  wretch  whose  appearance  now  scarcely  claims  kindred 
with  his  species  ! 

My  father,  pleased  with  a  wealthy  and  influential  connection, 
made  generous  provision  for  my  outset  in  life.  My  sister  had 
married,  and  her  husband  proved  a  valuable  substitute  for  an 


THE    HERMIT'S    STORY.  301 

undutiful  son.  Thrs  fortunate  circumstance  conveniently  served 
to  quiet  those  troublesome  whispers  with  which  conscience 
would  occasionally  beset  me.  Yet  the  sadness  which  had 
become  habitual  to  my  mother's  face,  conveyed  a  reproach 
to  my  better  sense  which  selfish  pr'de  could  never  wholly 
disregard.  Every  look  of  hers  told  me  that  no  son-in-law 
could  ever  supply  my  place  to  her  ;  and  that  the  disappoint 
ment  occasioned  by  my  cold-hearted  desertion  had  thrown 
a  chilling  shade  on  the  evening  of  her  days.  But  one  glance  at 
my  idol  always  sufficed  to  put  to  flight  every  repentant  thought. 

Yet  the  part  of  my  life  which  I  look  back  upon  with  the  least 
remorse  is  the  period  that  immed:ately  followed  my  marriage. 
During  those  four  happy  years,  inspired  by  the  various  excellen 
ces  in  my  wife's  character,  T  labored  assiduously  to  correct  my 
faults.  I  forgot  my  self-importance  as  far  as  possible,  and 
endeavored  to  promote  the  happiness  of  all  around  me,  even  at 
the  sacrifice  of  so  >  e  of  my  own  cherished  inclinations.  Imper 
fect  as  were  my  efforts,  they  were  s'ncere,  and  with  my  Marga 
ret,  at  least,  eminently  successful.  Never  was  the  pure  light  of  our 
domestic  happiness  dimmed  for  a  moment,  even  by  the  overflow 
ings  of  that  wayward  self-will  which  had  so  often  brought  tears 
to  the  eyes  of  my  poor  mother.  How  indeed  conM  I  have  lived 
to  tell  th's  sad  sfory,  if  to  all  the  rest  were  added  the  recollec 
tion  that  I  had  ever  inflicted  one  pang  on  that  loving  heart  ? 

It  was  my  intention,  when  I  began  this  record,  to  have 
passed  over  the  incidents  of  my  early  life,  and  to  have  recalled 
little  more  than  the  horrible  catastrophe  which  has  darkened 
the  sun  and  extinguished  the  stars  to  my  blighted  soul  for  so 
many  years.  But  with  the  attempt  to  say  anything  of  myself, 
human  feelings  and  the  natural  longing  for  human  sympathy 


302  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

revived  at  once  within  me.  Recollections  of  the  entire  past 
flooded  my  soul,  and  would  have  vent.  Far  different  have  long 
been  my  contemplations,  and  who  does  not  know  that  rebellious 
thoughts  br'ng  their  own  just  misery  with  them  ?  The  very 
consolation  which  I  experience  in  the  recital  of  my  sorrows, 
reproaches  me  with  the  insane  folly  of  having  withdrawn  myself 
from  my  kind  until  I  am  no  longer  fit  for  their  communion. 
But  I  must  not  lose  time  which  I  feel  will  be  but  short. 

My  father-in-law  had  large  contracts  connected  with  internal 
improvements,  and,  besides  keeping  his  accounts,  I  frequently 
superintended  the  labors  of  his  workmen  in  the  quarry  and  in 
the  forest.  The  latter  was  to  me  an  ever  new  delight.  To  ex 
plore  its  tangled  thickets,  to  roam  through  long  branch-roofed 
vistas  until  the  resounding  strokes  of  the  woodman  were  lost  in 
the  distance  ;  and  then,  amid  the  hush  of  noonday  twilight,  to 
give  myself  up  to  romantic  musings  or  to  solemn  contemplation, 
was  among  the  very  few  enjoyments  that  could  reconcile  me  to 
leaving  my  happy  home,  even  for  a  day. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  when  I  had  strayed  until  hunger 
overtook  me,  and  I  had  begun  to  think  the  way  home  would 
seem  too  long,  I  came  unexpectedly  upon  an  Indian  wigwam. 
Its  inmates,  a  young  man  and  his  mother,  received  me  with 
grave  courtesy  ;  and,  at  my  request  for  food,  the  white-haired 
squaw  set  before  me  corn-bread  and  succatash,  with  a  calabash 
of  water,  which  was  nectar  to  my  eager  thirst.  The  young 
man,  a  tall  and  well-looking  specimen  of  his  race,  was  one  whom 
we  had  employed  in  searching  for  timber  suited  to  our  purposes, 
and  I  took  this  opportunity  to  engage  him  to  explore  a  new  and 
wild  track  for  some  trees  of  great  size  which  were  necessary  at 
that  time.  His  manner  had  that  cold  and  stern  indifference 


THE   HERMIT'S   STORY.  303 

which  veils  the  fiery  soul  of  his  race  ;  but  he  promised  compli 
ance  and  I  left  him,  having  in  vain  tried  to  press  upon  himself 
and  his  mother  some  compensation  for  my  refreshment. 

In  consequence  of  my  commission,  Indian  John,  as  this  young 
man  was  called  in  the  neighborhood,  came  several  times  to  my 
house,  and  upon  one  occasion  crossed  my  wife's  path  as  she  was 
going  out.  It  was  then  that  I  learned  that  Margaret  had  a 
deep  and  unconquerable  dread  of  au  Indian.  Her  family 
accounted  for  it  by  the  circumstance  of  her  having  been  fright 
ened  by  one  when  a  child.  The  occurrence,  as  repeated  to  me, 
did  not  seem  likely  to  have  made  so  lasting  an  impression  on  the 
mind  of  a  girl  brought  up  on  the  outskirts  of  civilization  ;  but  it 
proved  to  be  indelibly  imprinted  on  her  imagination,  and  was 
supposed  to  have  been  the  first  cause  of  her  delicate  health.  A 
country  girl  entrusted  with  the  care  of  her  when  four  or  five 
years  old,  took  her  one  day  into  the  woods  near  her  father's,  in 
search  of  wild  flowers  ;  and,  leaving  her  under  a  tree  to  amuse 
herself  with  those  already  gathered,  penetrated  further,  hoping 
to  find  some  still  brighter  and  more  beautiful.  In  her  absence 
a  drunken  Indian  found  the  child,  and  for  mere  mischief,  as  is 
supposed,  gave  one  of  those  shrill  yells,  said  to  be  among  the 
most  appalling  of  all  earthly  sounds.  The  girl,  brought  back 
by  the  whoop,  found  Margaret  in  strong  convulsions  ;  and  for 
some  weeks  she  hovered  between  life  and  death,  and  afterward 
suffered  many  years  from  the  enfeebled  condition  of  her  nerves. 
Ever  since  that  time  she  had  dreaded  the  sight  of  one  of  the 
dark  race,  and  I  now  understood  why  she  had  always  declined 
my  invitations  to  go  with  me  to  the  forest.  She  refrained  from 
mentioning  her  secret  fears,  for  she  shrunk  from  avowing  what 
she  considered  a  silly  weakness.  With  her  a  weakness  was  not 


304  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

a  thing  to  be  boasted  of,  but  to  be  struggled  against  and  over 
come. 

But  now  that  I  had  discovered  this  tender  point,  I  made  it 
my  study  to  guard  my  beloved  from  every  chance  that  could 
excite  such  painful  feelings.*  I  took  measures  to  put  an  end  to 
Indian  John's  visits — declining  his  services,  and  forbidding  my 
men  to  employ  him.  Still  he  had  requests  to  prefer,  occasion 
ally  ;  and  finding  he  continued  to  show  himself  at  my  door,  I 
represented  to  him  my  wife's  fears,  and  foolishly  bribed  him  to 
absent  himself.  After  this  I  found  he  would  take  advantage  of 
my  absence  to  apply  for  food  and  money,  as  if  determined  to 
enjoy  the  pleasure  of  tormenting  one  who  dared  to  cast  dishonor 
on  his  haughty  race.  At  length,  distracted  by  his  pertinacity, 
I  threatened  and  then  struck  him.  He  neither  returned  the 
blow  nor  offered  resistance,  when  I  put  him  forth  forcibly,  for 
bidding  him  ever  to  approach  my  doors  again. 

But  Margaret  never  was  at  rest  after  that  unhappy  day.  An 
Indian,  she  said,  never  forgave  ;  and  she  was  convinced,  by  the 
diabolical  glance  which  John  cast  upon  me  as  I  spurned  him 
from  my  door,  that  he  would  only  wait  some  safe  opportunity  to 
take  his  revenge.  She  thought  not  of  herself — her  fears  were 
for  me  alone  ;  and  I  readily  promised  not  to  wander  forth  alone, 
as  had  been  my  wont,  but  for  her  sake  to  be  ever  wary  of  my 
exasperated  enemy.  Yet  I  often  reminded  her  of  the  subdued 
condition  of  the  Indian  race.  "  The  white  man,"  I  said,  "  has  a 
bridle  on  the  neck  and  a  bit  in  the  mouth  of  the  savage  ;  he  has 
broken  his  spirit  and  bent  him  to  his  will.  The  red  man  is  no 
longer  the  untamed  and  untamable.  The  deadly  hatred,  unap 
peasable  but  by  the  blood  of  the  offender,  is  no  longer  part  of 
his  nature.  His  vices  as  well  as  his  virtues  have  lost  their 


THE   HERMIT'S   STORY.  305 

savage  strength.  The  whiskey  of  the  white  man  has  obliterated 
all  that  is  fearful,  as  well  as  all  that  is  grand,  in  his  charac 
ter.  There  is  nothing  to  be  feared  from  *so  contemptible  a  being 
as  the  wretched  Indian." 

She  heard  me  shudderingly  ;  for  an  antipathy  so  deeply  rooted 
is  not  to  be  influenced  by  reasoning.  I  found  her  often  depress 
ed,  and  the  paleness  which  had  marked  her  when  I  first  saw 
her,  began  again  to  encroach  upon  the  roses  which  health  and 
happiness  had  brought  to  her  cheek.  Hoping,  by  a  temporary 
absence  from  the  scene  of  such  unpleasant  impressions,  to  dissi 
pate  their  effect,  I  proposed  to  her  a  visit  of  a  few  weeks  to  my 
parents,  who  were  always  delighted  to  have  her  with  them,  and 
to  whom  she  was  warmly  attached.  She  assented  gladly,  and 
we  prepared  for  the  journey. 

Visions  of  my  home  I  how  is  it  that,  after  all  this  dreary  inter 
val,  ye  rise  on  my  soul  with  the  freshness  of  yesterday  !  That 
pretty  cottage — that  trellised  porch,  with  its  pendant  wreaths 
and  its  overhanging  roof — the  trees  which  my  own  hand  planted, 
and  which  grew  to  my  wish,  as  if  proud  to  shade  the  dwelling 
of  Margaret !  How  often,  since  that  dreadful  day,  have  I  stood 
again  amid  those  fairy  scenes,  holding  that  dear  hand  in  mine, 
and  listening,  as  of  yore,  to  that  softest  voice  ;  then  started 
from  my  broken  slumber  to  solitude  and  wretchedness  !  Oh  ! 
the  bitterness  of  the  contrast  !  Yet  were  not  those  gleams  of 
bliss  an  earnest  of  what  may  yet  be  in  store  for  the  reclaimed 
wanderer  ? 

Being  obliged  to  be  absent  for  a  few  hours  in  preparing  for 

leaving  home,  I  took  my  wife  to  her  father's,  not  liking  to  leave 

her  exposed  to  any  agitating  accident  in  her  present  feeble  state. 

I  told  her  I  would  return  to  tea,  and  bade  her  be  ready  to  set 

20 


306  AUTUMN    HOURS. 

out  for  my  father's  on  the  morrow.  "  Ready,  aye,  ready  !"  was 
her  smiling  reply,  as  I  mounted  and  lode  off,  full  of  spirits  and 
fearless  of  all  ill.  When  I  reached  the  spot  where  the  road 
wound  round  a  hill  not  far  distant,  I  turned  to  exchange  a  part 
ing  sign,  knowing  that  Margaret  would  watch  me  till  I  disap 
peared.  She  never  looked  lovelier.  She  stood  on  the  steps  of 
the  portico,  one  arm  thrown  round  a  slender  pillar,  and  the  rich 
drapery  of  honeysuckle  •mingling  with  the  bright  tresses  which 
descended  in  curls  to  her  bosom.  As  I  gazed,  she  kissed  a 
white  rose  which  she  tossed  toward  me,  and  then  waved  her 
hand  as  if  to  bid  me  begone.  Why  do  I  describe  her  appear 
ance  in  that  particular  moment,  when  I  must  have  seen  her  so 
often  with  greater  advantages  of  dress  and  situation.  Alas  !  it 
was  the  last  time  !  I  never  saw  her  thus  again. 

After  finishing  my  business  at  the  nearest  town,  I  hastened 
homeward,  and  reached  my  father-in-law's  about  dark.  On 
inquiring  for  Margaret,  I  found  she  had  gone  home  half  an  hour 
before,  having  yet  some  little  affairs  to  attend  to,  in  preparation 
for  her  journey.  I  hurried  home,  but  no  fond  welcome  awaited 
me.  My  wife  had  not  returned.  I  stood  as  if  transfixed.  A 
dread  misgiving  seized  me  ;  yet  it  was  so  indefinite  than  I  knew 
not  which  way  my  fears  pointed.  Her  maid  thought  she  might 
have  gone  for  some  trifling  purchase  to  the  village  quite  near 
us,  but  on  inquiry  it  was  found  that  she  had  not  been  seen 
there.  Every  house  in  the  neighborhood  was  tried,  and  the 
alarm  became  general.  Her  father  now  joined  me,  and  his  first 
inquiry  was  whether  any  Indians  had  been  seen  about.  Well 
do  I  remember  the  icy  dart  that  pierced  my  heart  at  that  ques 
tion.  After  all  my  incredulity,  I  felt  at  once  certain  that 
Indian  John  was  in  some  way  concerned  in  our  loss.  This  was 


THE  HERMIT'S  STORY.  307 

at  once  confirmed  by  the  answer  of  a  boy  in  the  crowd,  that  he 
had  met  Indian  John  on  the  road,  on  horseback,  with  a  sick 
squaw  wrapped  in  a  blanket  before  him  ;  and,  he  added,  that 
he  thought  that  he  had  the  squire's  bay  horse.  I  flew  to  the 
stable — the  horse  was  gone. 

We  were  soon  mounted  and  on  our  way  to  the  woods.  1 
burst  the  door  of  the  wigwam — it  was  deserted.  We  had  now 
no  clue  to  guide  us,  but  followed  any  path  we  happened  to 
descry,  by  the  light  of  a  clouded  moon  Once  or  twice  we 
fouud  the  clearings  of  white  men,  but  when  aroused  they  could 
give  us  no  information.  At  length,  just  as  the  day  was  break 
ing,  we  reached  the  bank  of  a  river,  and  a  log-hut,  the  owner 
of  which  told  us  there  were  wigwams  on  the  opposite  side.  I 
was  about  to  dash  into  the  stream,  but  the  man  called  to  me  to 
take  his  boat.  The  ford  was  not  safe,  he  said,  though  an  Indian 
had  crossed  it  that  night  on  horseback.  I  left  the  boat  for 
men  in  their  senses,  and  made  my  own  way  across,  I  know  not 
how. 

From  this  moment  my  recollections  begin  to  be  less  distinct. 
I  remember  the  beating  of  my  heart,  which  shook  me  from  head 
to  foot.  I  remember,  too,  that  with  a  tiger-like  stealth,  I  crept 
to  the  nearest  hut,  and  looked  through  a  crevice  in  the  side.  I 
see  my  wife  now — as  she  sat  on  the  ground,  propped  against  the 
wall — her  face  pale  and  swollen,  and  her  eyes  so  fixed  and 
glassy  that  I  thought  for  a  moment  I  beheld  but  her  lifeless 
body.  But  the  Indian  to6  was  there,  and,  as  he  moved,  those 
death-like  orbs  turned  their  ghastly  light  upon  him,  with  an 
expression  of  such  terror — I  stood  like  stone — cold,  powerless, 
almost  senseless — till  he  moved  toward  her — then,  with  a  yell 
like  his  own,  I  sprung  upon  him — but  I  know  no  more.  .  .  . 


308  t       AUTUMN    HOURS. 

We  were  in  the  boat  on  the  river — they  put  an  oar  into  my 
hands,  and  my  wife  lay  in  her  father's  arms  unconscious  of  our 
presence,  or  of  any  thing  that  had  befallen  her.  One  man 
steered,  and  another  held  the  cord  with  which  they  had  bound 
the  arms  of  the  Indian.  My  mind  was  perfect  chaos — but  one 
idea  stood  out  clear  amid  the  confusion — that  was  vengeance. 
"  Vengeance  I"  seemed  the  voice  of  every  breath  I  drew,  and  all 
distracted  as  I  was,  I  had  yet  mind  enough  left  to  plan  its  ex 
ecution.  I  had  no  weapon  for  instant  action  ;  but  the  idea  of 
plunging  the  wretch  into  the  water,  as  soon  as  Margaret  should 
be  in  safety,  and  holding  him  there  until  his  hated  breath  had 
ceased,  feasted  my  boiling  passions,  and  I  rowed  with  convulsive 
eagerness  to  hasten  the  blissful  moment.  Yengeance  was  sure, 
and  already  I  seemed  to  roll  the  sweet  morsel  under  my  tongue, 
when  the  Indian,  bursting  the  cord,  with  one  bound  sprung 
over  me,  seized  Margaret,  and,  with  a  yell  of  triumph,  plunged 
with  her  into  the  water.  I  followed,  but  rage  blinded  me  ;  and 
he  easily  eluded  my  grasp,  darting  off  whenever  I  approached, 
and  always  keeping  his  helpless  burthen  under  water.  At 
length,  casting  toward  me  the  now  lifeless  corpse,  he  made  for 
the  farther  shore.  To  others  I  left  the  care  of  my  beloved, 
while  I  pursued  her  destroyer.  I  overtook  him  as  he  gained 
the  opposite  bank,  grappled  with  him,  and  snatching  his  own 
knife,  buried  it  in  his  heart.  He  fell  dead,  but  my  hatred  still 
survived.  I  continued  to  plunge  the  weapon  again  and  again 
into  his  abhorred  carcase,  until  my  fiery  strength  failed,  and  I 
sunk  exhausted  and  insensible  upon  the  ground.  The  efforts 
of  those  abont  me  recalled  me  to  a  brief  sense  of  my  misery,  but 
fever  and  delirium  followed,  and,  before  I  recovered  my  reason, 
the  form  I  had  so  idolized  was  forever  hidden  from  my  sight. 


THE  HERMIT'S  STORY.  309 

From  the  time  that  I  once  more  awoke  to  the  knowledge  of 
my  utter  desolation,  my  mind  has  never  possessed  its  orig'nal 
clearness,  until  now  that  the  light  of  another  world  seems 
rapidly  opening  upon  it.  Yet  I  remember  the  slow  return  of 
reason,  and  that  the  first  use  I  made  of  my  powers,  was  to 
crawl  to  the  window  of  the  room,  to  look  at  my  once  haj  py 
home.  I  had  been  carried  to  my  father-in-law's,  and  nursed 
with  all  the  care  that  cruel  kindness  could  suggest,  to  preserve 
a  life  which  could  be  but  a  burthen.  My  illness  must  have 
been  of  long  continuance.  The  fields  were  bare  ;  the  trees 
were  in  the  latest  livery  of  autumn.  The  little  brook,  bound  in 
icy  chains,  no  longer  sparkled  on  its  way,  as  when  Margaret 
and  I  last  stood  on  its  green  banks,  and  spoke  of  its  sweet 
music,  and  of  the  old  willow  which  shaded  half  its  width. 
Death  seemed  stamped  upon  all  things.  When  my  eye  rested 
on  that  beloved  roof — the  window  where  she  sat  at  work  so 
often — the  arched  gate  at  which  she  used  to  wait  my  alighting 
— I  expected  to  see  a  funeral  procession  pass  down  its  leaf- 
strewed  walk.  When  I  last  saw  it,  all  was  repose  and  beauty 
without  ;  all  love  and  happiness  within.  Now — but  who  can 
enter  into  such  feelings  ?  Let  me  hasten  to  a  conclusion. 

When  my  strength  returned,  and  I  was  endeavoring  to  form 
some  definite  plan  for  the  wretched  remnant  of  life,  I  was  in 
formed  that  a  trial  would  be  necessary.  A  trial  !  It  was  but 
a  form,  they  said,  but  it  must  be  submitted  to.  I  was  passive 
— dumb  with  utter  misery — yet  I  must  undergo  an  examination, 
and  I  did  endure  it  ;  I  remember  the  tearing  open  of  my  yet 
bleeding  wounds — the  coarse  handling  of  those  who  could  not 
conceive  the  torture  they  were  inflicting  ;  and  I  was  told  that 
I  must  be  ready  to  answer  yet  again.  From  that  time  I 


310  AUTUMN   HOURS. 

brooded  over  the  means  of  escape  from  this  new  suffering — not 
only  for  my  own  sake  but  for  that  of  others.  I  shudder  even 
now  at  the  recollection  of  my  feelings  toward  the  unconsc;ous 
questioner  ;  for  the  madness  of  grief  was  yet  on  me,  and  the 
rude  calling  up  of  the  image  of  my  lost  love,  pale,  dying,  as  I 
had  last  beheld  her,  brought  also  the  bl'nd  rage  of  the  moment, 
till  I  longed  to  clutch  again  the  reeking  knife.  It  was  too 
much.  I  left  the  roof  which  so  kindly  sheltered  my  wretched 
head,  and  rushed  onward  without  a  plan— without  a  hope  for 
the  future.  I  need  not  dwell  upon  my  unhappy  wander'ngs  ; 
upon  the  cold,  the  hunger,  the  bitter  suffering,  which  assails 
him  who  roams  without  money  and  without  friends.  The  wants 
of  the  body  were  disregarded  until  they  became  inferable, 
and  then,  if  some  k'nd  hand  d'd  not  give  what  nature  requ'ml, 
I  dug  the  earth  for  roots,  or  climbed  the  trees  for  nuts,  like  the 
scarce  wilder  denizens  of  the  forest.  By  clay  my  thoughts 
wandered  in  aimless  misery  from  my  past  happiness  to  my 
present  condition,  too  often  mingl'ng  with  thoughts  of  woe, 
blasphemous  murmurings  against  the  Author  of  my  being.  Tn 
dreams  the  last  dread  scene  was  a  thousand  times  repeated. 
Again  I  grappled  with  the  destroyer  of  my  peace,  and  felt  his 
warm  blood  in  my  face  ;  or  endued  by  a  revengeful  fancy  with 
supernatural  power,  and  no  longer  1'mited  to  such  puny  retrbu- 
tion,  whole  tribes  seemed  given  to  my  revenge.  I  hunted  them 
to  the  brink  of  precipices,  and  hurled  them  headlong  down  ; 
or,  kindling  forests,  and  enclosing  them  within  the  blazing 
circle,  I  gloated  upon  their  fierce  agonies,  unsatisfied  even  then. 
After  a  whole  year  of  wandering,  during  which  I  endured  more 
than  words  can  describe,  I  bethought  me  of  this  wild  spot.  I  had 
visited  it  once  dur'ng  my  college  life,  and  knew  it  was  too  diffi- 


THE  HERMIT'S    STORY.  311 

cult  of  access  to  be  thought  worth  cultivation.  Here  T  built  this 
rude  shed,  and  none  noticed  or  molested  me.  One  winter  I  had 
passed  in  the  half-roofed  hovel,  but  at  the  return  of  the  next  I 
left  it  for  a  warmer  clime,  but  hastened  back  in  the  spring,  in 
time  to  plant  for  the  support  of  the  life  I  loathed,  yet  might 
not,  unbidden,  lay  down.  These  journey  ings,  the  tillage  of  this 
hard  soil,  and  the  daily  wants  which  belong  even  to  savage 
life,  occupied  much  of  my  time  ;  but  I  had  still  many  hours  of 
wretched  leisure,  in  which  to  brood  over  the  past,  and  to  lift 
my  daring  thoughts  in  impotent  questionings  of  the  justice  of 
God. 

The  change  that  has  come  over  my  feelings,  though  one 
which  has  turned  darkness  to  light,  and  blasphemous  murmur- 
ings  to  humble  praises,  is  one  which,  with  all  its  blessedness,  I 
am  unable  to  describe.  I  know  not  when  it  was  that  I  began 
to  be  a  new  creature  ;  but  I  know  that  the  first  proof  of  it,  to 
my  own  conviction,  was  the  longing  desire  to  return  to  my  parents 
— to  throw  myself  at  their  feet,  and  ask  their  forgiveness  for 
my  early  fault.  But,  alas  !  I  had  thrown  my  life  away.  Not 
only  were  my  habits  such  that  I  could  now  scarcely  endure  the 
sight  of  my  fellow  beings,  but  the  years  that  had  elapsed  since 
my  mad  flight,  left  no  hope  that  my  parents  were  yet  among 
the  living.  I  must  carry  this  sorrow  with  me  to  the  grave,  in 
humble  hope  that  my  late  repentance  may  be  accepted.  Hav'ng 
been  found  of  Him  that  I  sought  not,  I  wait  with  a  calmness 
beyond  my  hopes,  for  that  happy  moment  when,  in  His  good 
pleasure,  He  shall  dismiss  me  from  the  scene  of  my  sins  and 
sufferings,  to  an  union  with  the  loved  and  lost. 


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